


Enemy of My Enemy

by graywolf2010



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternative Universe - FBI, Alternative Universe - Mafia, Asian Family, Bad Touch Trio, Dark, Established Relationship, F/M, Human Names, Human Trafficking, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, I'm really bad at tagging, Kidnapping, M/M, Mafia AU, Mentions of Prostitution, Murder, Nordic Five, Past Relationship(s), Strong Language, Swearing, Vargas Mafia, i suck at summaries, mafia, mentions of child labor, vulgarity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3488639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywolf2010/pseuds/graywolf2010
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Kirkland is an FBI agent who has been working for years with his team to catch the notorious Vargas Mafia. On the other side, Lovino Vargas and his brother Feliciano are the young heads of the Mafia that has terrorized Chicago for decades, founded by their grandfather. As desperate new leaders, the brothers struggle to keep the organization under control and out of reach of the FBI, but when an age old feud arises with another group of criminals, the Arthur's department and the Vargas Mafia find themselves facing a common enemy. Can they find a way to work together to take down or will all three groups go down in flames?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M for profanity and dark themes (also I'm a wee bit paranoid). Also, to anyone who reading my other work, "Saving the Antichrist", I promise to update soon.
> 
> Romano, disclaimer?  
> Romano: The writing bastard does not own Hetalia.  
> Romano has spoken.

All was dark in the office save for the dim light emitted from a small lamp on one solitary desk. Post it notes and pens littered its surface, the post its containing mundane reminders such as "Pay back Bonnefoy" and "Phone Agent Ox." A laptop was laid open atop the desk, but the screen was black and lifeless, and no sound could be heard but a faint snoring.

The snoring was coming from a man with somewhat messy blonde hair and thick, black eyebrows, resting above his closed eyes like fuzzy caterpillars. His head tilted back as he reclined in the swivel chair, his mouth gaping wide and his hands drooping off the sides of the chair, long fingers nearly touching the ground. 

Suddenly, a loud ringing sounded, echoing throughout the office. Startled, the blonde man's eyes shot open, and he shot up one hand hovering above the handle of a gun and the other clutching his FBI badge like a lifeline. His green eyes fell on the ringing phone, and, relieved, he set down the badge and answered, "Agent Kirkland." His voice carried a heavy English accent, but was not difficult to understand.

"I know who you are," a low, slightly accented voice replied, though through the phone, Kirkland could not tell from where the accent originated. "I would not have called otherwise, bastard."

Growling slightly at the insult, the agent snapped, "To whom am I speaking?"

A slight pause. "You may call me Romano."

Kirkland's breath caught in his throat. "Why are you calling he?" he hissed, clenching is fists. 

The man on the other end sighed, before begrudgingly responding, "It seems that you and I share a common interest."

Furrowing his impressive eyebrows, the agent chuckled. "Eliminating your Mafia?"

"Eliminating the child traffickers, idiota!" 

Kirkland twisted the phone cord around one finger, before allowing it to snap back. "Are you proposing that we work together?"

"The Mafia and the FBI forming a temporary alliance. Now that's an idea."

 

 

Three Months Earlier…

"Artie, get down!"

Arthur Kirkland ducked just on time to avoid being hit in the head with a paper airplane, which sailed past and came to a stop upon colliding with the wall. The Englishman glared venomously at the offender who had thrown the plane, a young man with straw colored hair and laughing blue eyes peering out through wire-rimmed glasses. "Jones, please don't tell me that was your paperwork," he growled, furrowing his impressive eyebrows.

"Sure was," the spectacled man laughed jovially, before falling back into his chair and kicking his feet up on his desk. "Aw British Dude, lighten up," Jones added, his grin fading. "We're no closer to catching these mafia dudes than we were four years ago."

A slightly shorter man with similar blonde hair and earnest brown eyes nodded. "It's been too long, Arthur. Maybe we should just give up." Murmurs of agreement could be heard from five other men, all slightly tinted with European accents.

Slamming a file down on his desk, Arthur shot to his feet. "Agents Jones,Väinämöinen, Oxenstierna, Køhler, Bondevik, Steilsson, and Zwingli!" he snapped, shooting daggers around the office. "We are the team who has been assigned the mission of taking down the Vargas Mafia, and we will not stop until every one of them is either locked up or dead!" He slammed a clenched fist down onto the desk with a bang.

The agents glanced around at each other with a pregnant pause before another, extremely tall, intimidating blonde man pushed up his glasses and broke with silence with a heavy, vowel-ridding accent. "I th'nk w've p'ck'd 'p a p'tt'rn."

"Recent mafia activity has been extremely focused," an agent with wild, spiky hair added enthusiastically, slinging one long arm over the shoulders of a pinstripe-clad agent who sported a barrette, in the shape of a cross, in his ashy blonde hair. "It's all in one section of the city—near Chinatown!"

"And there have been no random killings recently," added an agent who was staring out the window of the office, eyeing the birds perched outside. His platinum blonde hair fell into his violet eyes, and his slim fingers rapped against the glass. "All of the victims seem to be connected."

Arthur glowered at his team. "Why did none of you tell me this?" He demanded.

Jones shrugged. "Oops," he laughed obnoxiously. "Hey guys, have you ever realized that we all work for the American FBI but I'm the only American on this team? That means that I'm the hero, and I should get to be the leader!"

Several groans of "Alfred, shut up" filled the room, but one agent with choppy, chin length hair remained silent, fingers every now and then brushing the handle of his gun. The silent man simply sat behind his computer, tapping out an email in German, and hitting the send button.

 

 

Lovino Vargas paced around the room of the Mafia safe house. Several pairs of eyes following him uneasily. "Eh, Lovi?" a man with dark hair and green eyes spoke up in a Spanish accent. "Are you okay?"

Lovino's amber eyes narrowed as he continued to pace, his fists clenching. "No you bastard!" he spat, and the Spaniard's hands shot up in a submissive gesture of surrender. 

Another young man sprang at Lovino, wrapping his arms around the Italian's neck. His auburn hair flew behind him and his eyes squeezed shut as he gave a cry of, "Ve~mi dispiace, Lovino!"

"Scendere di me, stupido fratello!" Lovino snapped, shaking the auburn haired man off. 

Seated behind a desk in the corner of the room, a muscular blonde man was glaring at his computer screen. "Problem, lil' bruder?" called an albino man who was seated beside the Spaniard, his crimson eyes narrowing as he noticed the concerned expression on the blonde's face. His voice was tinged with an obnoxious German accent; a shit-eating grin was spread across on his pale features.

"Ja," the blonde man confirmed in a heavy, lower German accent. He furrowed his brows and rubbed his temples, as if to ward away a headache.

"Ve~Ludwig, what's wrong?" the auburn haired man inquired in a slightly higher-pitched Italian accent, Lovino's outburst forgotten.

Ludwig's ice blue eyes flickered from the albino to the Italian. He sighed, "I've just received an email from Zwingli. The FBI is closing in on us,"

"We're the Vargas Mafia," Lovino hissed, resuming his pacing. "We won't be caught by those idioti at the FBI. Feliciano and I have run this operation smoothly since Grandfather Roma died, and we will continue to do so!"

"Keep in mind that you're both barely of age, especially Feliciano," Ludwig growled in annoyance. 

"We have much larger problems than the Feds, mis amigos," the Spaniard added. "We've dealt with them before, and we can do it again."

"Ja, Toni was arrested, and we got him out of it," the albino agreed. 

"But by the skin of our teeth, Gilbert!" Ludwig snapped. "You might be a good shot, bruder, but you and a few snipers barely got us out last time, and the Feds all saw Antonio's face."

"We need to focus on the Asian family," the Spaniard—Antonio—protested. "A bunch of psychos kidnapping children and forcing them into prostitution and slave labor is a bigger deal than the federal government any day." 

"Ve~and the head of their organization hated Grandpa Rome. We've been at each other's throats for years—" the younger Italian whimpered nervously. 

"Which is why we need to take them on now!" the albino German, who had earlier been addressed as Gilbert, concluded. "The awesome me will kill every one of those twisted fick köpfe!"

"Brilliant planning," Lovino purred, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "except you've forgotten the part about HOW WE'VE BEEN TRYING TO KILL THOSE BASTARDI EVER SINCE THEY SHOWED THEIR UGLY FACES IN CHICAGO YEARS AGO! We need to learn more about our enemies on both sides. I will send the Piano Bastard to meet with Zwingli so that we can gather more information on the government bastards, and the Beilschmidt brothers—" he glanced from Gilbert to Ludwig, "and Feliciano will continue to track the Asian bastards."

Several murmurs of agreement along with a very loud and obnoxious "sounds like a plan, Boss," and a seductive, Spanish sounding purr of "Lovi, you sound so commanding," filled the room, leaving Lovino Vargas to wonder just how the rest of his Mafia would react to the news of the FBI's closing in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't gathered yet, it seems there's a double agent in the midst of all the turmoil. Also, the FBI review what they already know and make some connections. Basically, I suck at summaries, and mentions of SwissAus, SuFin, USUK, and DenNor ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> Sweden?   
> Sweden: Th' auth'r does n't own H'talia.   
> Thank you, Sweden. Comment who you guys want to do the next disclaimer.

At exactly three o'clock PM, a dark haired man with milky skin, clad in a dark violet suit stepped into an internet café. Making his way to the back of the café, the man kept his head down and his eyes lowered behind elegant spectacles, and sat stiffly at a table. He did not order any coffee, nor did he take out a computer out of the briefcase which he carried.

Precisely ten minutes after the dark haired man's arrival, another man with chin-length blonde hair and a dark suit entered the café. This man, more naturally, ordered a cup of black coffee and frowned at the expensive pricing, before joining the dark haired man in the back.

"Vash," the dark haired man greeted his companion in a nasal, slightly German sounding voice, his tone as sharp as his attire. 

"Edelstein," the blonde man returned the greeting curtly. 

A small sigh came from Edelstein. "Why always so formal?" he pondered, twirling a lock of his dark hair with one delicate musician's finger. 

"I'm on a clock, Edelstein. This must be done quickly."

The nasal voiced man shook his head. "Let's get straight to business, then." He pulled a laptop out from his briefcase.

Vash Zwingli copied the action. "I'm uploading these files to your computer," he told his companion stiffly. 

"Aren't you going to actually tell me about your team?"

Vash's green eyes narrowed at the other man, but he gave a small nod. "Arthur Kirkland runs the department," he began, passing a file across the table to Edelstein who began to flip through it. "His partner is a man called Alfred F. Jones, and he's the only actual American on the team."

"Funny," Edelstein mused, "that there is only one American in your team which works for the American government."

"How fun," Vash agreed, smirking. "Then there's the Scandinavians. Matthias Køhler," he added, pointing to a picture of a spiky haired man, which was inside the file, "is Danish, for example. The one with the barrette is his partner, Lukas Bondevik, who's Norwegian."

"And the one whose eyes are like mine?" 

Vash glanced at the picture of the agent with violet eyes. "That's Emil Steilsson. He's Bondevik's younger half-brother."

"And the small one?"

"He may be small," warned Vash sharply, "but he's the best shot in the entire Bureau. His name is Tino Väinämöinen, and the one with the glasses and the intimidating glare is Berwald Oxenstierna."

"So these are the big players on the chess board?" Edelstein murmured. "How interesting."

"Don't forget that I'm in the mix too, Edelstein."

"Well, judging by the fact that you're betraying your whole team by meeting with me, I'm not terribly worried," Edelstein informed the blonde in German.

"I'm maintaining neutrality," Vash retorted in the same language.

"Yes, yes, by keeping us informed while actually doing your job in the FBI. Believe me Vash, I've heard it. I know. Can you please just tell me how the FBI is getting closer to catching us?"

"The Scandinavians have all noticed your efforts in Chinatown, and how you're focusing on a specific group."

"But they don't know which group?"

"No."

A small smile crossed Edelstein's face. "See if you can get Lili to sleep over at a friend's house tonight, Vash."

The double agent's jaw clinched. "Leave my sister out of this," he hissed. "Just give me my money and leave us the fuck alone, if that's what you'd like."

"Calm down, old friend," Edelstein sighed, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "I was merely implying that you could take the night off and spend it with me."

Going red in the face, Vash abruptly shot up and snapped his laptop shut. He stuffed the computer in his briefcase, sent a final glare in Edelstein's direction, and marched out of the café without another word. 

Roderich Edelstein stared into the double agent's unfinished coffee, a small smirk playing on his lips. "See you tonight, my little spy," he whispered in German. "I hope you got a discount on that coffee."

 

 

"Let's cover the basics of what we know about the Vargas Mafia." Arthur Kirkland's head snapped up when he heard a friendly voice make the suggestion. It came from a short blonde man with brown eyes who wore a light blue suit and a white beret. The amicable agent twisted the cross necklace that he bore uncomfortably, before hastily adding, "Just a recap."

With a faint smile, Arthur nodded. "That's a good idea, Väinämöinen," he complimented the agent, as another young agent with silvery blonde hair and violet eyes murmured, "Nice work, Tino."

"Shouldn't we wait for Alfred?" the spiky haired agent asked loudly, but Arthur shook his head. 

"He's ill," the Englishman informed his teammate, who gasped. 

"What's wrong with my bro?"

A sigh. "He has a cold, but he's convinced that he's dying, the bloody git."

The spiky haired agent whooped, causing the tall agent with glasses and an intimidating glare to nearly spit out his coffee and the agent with the cross barrette and the strange curl sticking out from the rest of his hair to hiss, "Matthias, you're so loud!"

"Sorry Lukas," Matthias replied, not sounding apologetic at all. "We'll bring over some beer to help him heal up!" the Dane added more enthusiastically.

"No you won't, Køhler," Arthur snapped. "The last thing I need on my hands is a drunk partner."

"Didn't he try to strip you last time he got drunk?" Tino asked innocently, and the intimidating agent grunted in confirmation.

"That's—that's not—we need to recap on the Mafia!" spluttered the Englishman, going red in the face. He dashed over to a whiteboard, grabbed a dry erase marker, and began to furiously scribble notes. "Agents, what do we know about the Vargas's?"

"Their Mafia was brought here by some immigrant from Rome, right?" the violet eyed man stated. 

"That's right, Emil," Lukas told the thin man, before asking, "Do we know his real name?" 

"C'sare Varg's," growled the tall agent. 

"Really?" Matthias asked skeptically. "I thought it was Julius or some other weird Italian name."

Tino shook his head. "Berwald's right, Matthias. It was Cesare."

"Well of course you would side with your husband!" 

"You and Lukas are together and I don't see him defending you."

"Lukas help me out—"

"Agents!" Arthur roared, silencing the Scandinavian men. "Agent Oxenstierna is right. The Vargas Mafia was brought by Cesare Vargas, although some call him Grandfather Roma." Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur noticed Berwald shooting Matthias as smug a look as he could manage, but chose to ignore it, as the Dane did not seem to notice. 

"But Cesare died, yes?" Lukas inquired. 

Arthur dipped his head. "He was shot by a traitor to the Mafia, Wolfgang Beilschmidt—"

"Hang on," Matthias interrupted, much to Arthur's annoyance. "That's not an Italian name."

"That's another thing that sets the Vargas's away from other Mafia families," Emil informed him. "They accept other nationalities into their Mafia. Beilschmidt was German."

"Was?" Matthias asked in surprise.

"He was killed by the elder of Cesare's grandsons soon after he killed Cesare," Arthur informed him tiredly. 'My god,' he thought in frustration. 'Does this bloody Dane ever shut it?!'

"Beilschmidt's killer took over the Mafia afterwards, aided by his younger brother, as well as some close friends and some relatives of Beilscmidt's. No one knows the new boss's name, but it's rumored to be Romano. However, this is likely a pseudonym.

"The Vargas brothers who now run the Mafia weren't very effective at the start of their run. Some remained loyal to their grandfather, but felt that the brothers were too young and would never fill his shoes. They felt that they could run the Mafia much more effectively.

"Romano wouldn't have it. He sent rounds of hit men to eliminate those who thought him too weak to lead his family's Mafia."

"He must have been desperate," murmured a voice from the back of the room, "to have sent hit men to kill members of his own Mafia. Desperate and terrified for his own life."

"You think that he had them killed to protect himself?" Arthur addressed the speaker. "Not to demonstrate what fate awaited those who doubted him?"

"Either would be reason enough."

"That's an interesting point," the English agent murmured, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "No matter, that's how we caught this particular hit man," he added, taping a photograph to the whiteboard. It was a mug shot of a handsome man with olive skin and dark hair. Despite the fact that he was posing for a mugshot, the hit man's green eyes seemed to sparkle with laughter, and a cheerful grin was spread across angular face. "Antonio Carriedo," Arthur hissed, scrawling the name beneath the mug shot. 

"Weren't you the one who caught him, Arthur?" asked Tino with a small smile.

"Yes," Arthur growled, "which is why it kills me that the bloody wanker escaped!" 

"He had help though," said Tino softly. "He wasn't bright enough to escape on his own, I think." 

"But we don't know who helped him," Lukas sighed. "All we know is that they were in the Mafia, and that nearly every guard in that prison was killed in the escape."

"But we have his face, which makes him easier to arrest," Arthur stated more lightheartedly, "and anyone spotted with him automatically becomes a suspect. 

"Well men, I believe we've found our link to catching the Mafia. Find Carriedo with company, find potential mobsters, find real mobsters."

"Nice one, Art!" yelled Matthias, flailing his arms and accidentally hitting Emil in the face. 

"Anything to add, Zwingli?" Arthur asked the agent who had earlier sympathized with the mob boss, "Romano."

Vash Zwingli shook his head, his lips forming a tight line. "You've covered it all, Kirkland."

"Hey Vash, we're going to visit Alfred tonight and tell him," called Matthias, quickly adding, "without beer!" after receiving a pointed glare from Arthur. 

"How fun," Vash drawled, narrowing his eyes.

"You coming, man?"

"Apologies, but I have plans tonight," Vash replied in a clipped voice. "Another time." 

Whipping out his phone, he discretely typed out a message in German to a contact labeled "R.E." The message was composed of two simple words: 

"They're close."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Key:   
> If you haven't gathered, these are the countries corresponding with the human names used in this AU:  
> Vash Zwingli: Switzerland  
> Roderich Edelstein: Austria  
> Arthur Kirkland: England  
> Alfred F. Jones: America  
> Matthias Køhler: Denmark  
> Lukas Bondevik: Norway  
> Emil Steilsson: Iceland  
> Berwald Oxenstierna: Sweden  
> Tino Väinämöinen (that's a pain in the ass to spell): Finland  
> Lovino "Romano" Vargas: South Italy "Romano"  
> Feliciano "Veneziano" Vargas: North Italy "Veneziano"  
> Antonio Carriedo: Spain  
> Ludwig Beilschmidt: Germany  
> Gilbert Beilschmidt: Prussia  
> Wolfgang Beilschmidt: Germania  
> Cesare Vargas (Grandfather Roma/Grandpa Rome): Ancient Rome
> 
> MORE TO COME


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our first of many bloody assassinations occurs (carried out by our favorite Spaniard), Lovino Vargas is frustrated (and rightfully so), and the infamous Asian Family is introduced (and they ain't playing around).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to try to post a new chapter every weekend. Translations and new characters will always be in the notes at the end.
> 
> And now for the disclaimer! Yao?  
> Yao: Why is this necessary? Go away!  
> Me: Because I don't want to be sued.  
> Yao: Then why are you writing this? It's called copyright because you don't have right to copy!  
> Me: Please…  
> Yao: FINE. Graywolf2010 does not own Hetalia. White people—sheesh.

It was a normal night for Antonio Carriedo. The Spaniard was lounging in a sleazy bar, sipping a beer, while the albino whom Lovino had earlier called Beilschmidt was chugging his third bottle. 

"You know, Toni," the albino slurred, slamming the empty bottle down on the bar beside the other two, "You've been really quiet. What's eating at you? You're usually awesome." He paused, before thoughtfully adding, "Not as awesome as me, but still awesome."

"Oui, mon ami," a blonde man with shoulder length hair who was seated on Antonio's opposite side agreed in a French accent. "What is it?"

"I don't know, mis amigos," sighed the Spaniard, drawing a quick sip of his beer. "I'm just tired, I guess."

"How is that boyfriend of yours?" the Frenchman asked reproachfully. "Is he giving you trouble?"

Antonio let out a small chuckle. "L—Romano?" he sputtered, mentally cursing himself for nearly revealing Lovino's true name. He knew how paranoid the Italian was and how protective he was of his identity, and he knew that he had promised to call him only by his pseudonym when in public. "No, no. He's stressed at work, yes, but if anything, it's strengthened our relationship. And the sex is great! Let me tell you—"

"Nein!" the albino yelped, covering his ears. "We don't want to hear it, Toni!"

"Oh grow up, Gilbert. We are all adults here," the Frenchman chastised him, before giving a soft "ohonhonhon."

"That doesn't make us all perverts, Francis!" Gilbert replied peevishly. "Bar tender! Bring me another beer!"

Antonio stared into his drink. Truth be told, he was stressed, and he knew that Gilbert knew why. He, along with Lovino and everyone else within the inner circle of the Vargas Mafia, was spread thin by his job, especially with two different groups to watch out for, one of which being the FBI. 

But Antonio wasn't worried about the FBI. That wasn't his job. Not tonight.

The Spaniard was eyeing a dark skinned, heavyset Hispanic man with dreadlocks which were tied back using a headband. A cigar poked out between his lips, but he wore a wide smile around the it. This man, who had been Antonio's best friend through all of high school, was now his target. 

Gilbert knew the plan. As soon as the Hispanic left, Antonio would follow him and would then eliminate him while Gilbert kept Francis distracted inside the bar. Initially, Antonio had planned to go alone, but once he learned the identity of his target, suddenly, having his best friend with him for support moments before the assassination seemed like a good idea, and if Gilbert and Antonio walked into a bar, Francis would always find a way to walk in with them.

The Spaniard closed his green eyes. He had never wanted Francis to come with him and Gilbert. The Frenchman wasn't a member of the Mafia, and had no idea that his two best friends were the best sniper and hitman in the organization. Now, he just hoped that the albino German would be able to keep Francis in the dark.

Suddenly, the Hispanic stood up. He slapped a sweaty wad of dollar bills on the table where he had been sitting, and exited the bar through the back door. Quietly, Antonio stood. "Well," he sighed, "it's been a long day, mis amigos. I'm heading home."

"Are you alright to drive?" Francis asked, concern flashing in his blue eyes. 

"Of course he is!" Gilbert butted in loudly, catching the Spaniard's cue. "Toni hasn't even had much to drink! More beer!"

While the German called repeatedly for more alcohol, Antonio told the bar tender to add his single beer to his tab, and slipped out the back door after his target.

The Hispanic man hadn't gotten very far. When Antonio exited the bar, he found himself in a back alley, his target nearing the end of the alley. Striding as quickly as he could toward the target, the Spaniard passed a prostitute and her client pressed up against a dumpster, but took no notice of them as he pulled a knife out of the inner pockets of his jacket. He had saved his favorite knife, Inigo, specifically for this target. 

Antonio neared his target, who took no notice. Only about five feet behind the Hispanic, the assassin lunged, driving Inigo deep into the chest of his target from behind. Warm, sticky blood spilled all over his hands, splattering his jacket as he viciously twisted, then withdrew the knife and caught the Hispanic as he fell. "Lo siento, Máximo," the Spaniard murmured, staring into his old friend's lifeless eyes and placing one bloodstained hand over the dead man's still heart. Blood was flowing freely from the Hispanic, drenching Antonio, but the Spaniard did not drop the dead man. "You should not have affiliated yourself with the child traffickers, mi amigo viejo."

A woman's scream could be heard from the other side of the alley, and the assassin turned to spot both the prostitute and her client fleeing in terror, having witnessed the murder.  
Antonio shook his head sadly. Something within him twisted at the thought of killing two innocent people whose only fault was being at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

But there could be no witnesses. As swift as the wind, Antonio drew a pistol from his waistband and took aim at his fleeing targets. There was a click. Two shots rang through the alleyway. Two limp bodies collapsed to the ground.

 

• • •

 

 

"Antonio needs to be kept off the streets." 

Lovino Vargas blinked in surprise at the Austrian who stood before him. "What do you mean, Piano Bastard?" he asked hesitantly. Antonio was a great asset to the operation, and keeping him from doing his job, Lovino knew, might prove difficult.

"I mean that I've just received a message from Vash," Roderich Edelstein replied with a breathy sigh. "He says that if the FBI catches even a glimpse of Antonio, they'll arrest him and anyone found with him."

"Jeepers," a slim young woman with long brown hair and green eyes whispered from where she stood next to Lovino. 

"You know, I was talking to Elizabeta before you barged in here talking about taking the Tomato Bastard off the streets, you jerk bastard," Lovino growled, not trying to hide his irritation.

"I don't mind," the green eyed woman assured the Italian, smiling brightly and casting a sidelong glance at Roderich. 

"Thank you, Elizabeta," the Austrian replied, dipping his head. "That being said, it is essential that we keep Antonio out of harm's way. He could jeopardize our entire operation."

Lovino opened his mouth to argue, but Elizabeta cut him off. "Roderich is right, Lovi. Not to mention that if we keep him out there, we put him in danger." 

The harsh Italian shook his head. "Well what am I supposed to do, ah?" he demanded. "He's out dealing with a little pezzo di merda right now!"

"You're the boss, Lovino," Roderich snarked. "Not to mention you're his boyfriend. You say the word, and he'll be where ever you want him to be in ten seconds flat."

Suddenly, Lovino felt his pocket vibrate. Pulling out the culprit, his phone, he tapped the "ANSWER" button and brought the device to his ear. "Lovi!" the cheerful voice on the other end exclaimed. "Are there any tomatoes at home? I'm starving!"

"Is that a code that I don't know about, you jerk?" the Italian growled, trying to think of all the possible things his Spanish boyfriend could mean by this.

"Eh? No. I'm just hungry. Oh, and uh, he hecho el trabajo, but…"

"But what?" Lovino's heart sank to his knees.

"Hubo algunas complicaciones." 

"Quali complicazioni?" hissed Lovino in Italian out of habit. He knew full well that everyone in the inner circle of the Mafia spoke German, Spanish, and Italian, some also speaking Dutch, French, and Hungarian, therefore, Antonio could understand what he was saying. The tick, he also knew, would make the conversation more difficult to understand for an eavesdropper.

"Well, there were two witnesses, and—"

"Se siano stati affrontati?" 

"Sí. But people heard the gun shots. I had to flee before I could dispose of the bodies."

"So the government bastards got them, sí?" 

"Most likely, sí."

Lovino squeezed his eyes shut. Antonio was a talented hit man, but only he could get into this kind of situation. "Listen to me, Tomato Bastard," he hissed into the phone. "Get your ass to the safe house right now. The FBI bastards are onto you, so you need to stay off the radar, capisci? We can discuss the details when you get here."

"I'm calling Gilbert," Elizabeta muttered, taking out her own phone. "And Roderich?" The Austrian glanced at the green eyed woman. "Thank Vash for everyone." Roderich dipped his head slightly. 

Lovino shook his head in disbelief. "Figlio di una cagna," the Italian mob boss swore softly. "Did we just lose our best hit man?"

Roderich nodded. "It appears so."

 

• • •

 

"Ericemdo is down."

The announcement could be heard across a long table, at the head of which sat a short Chinese man. His long, dark brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, and despite his youth, his eyes looked as if they had seen a thousand years of torment. He narrowed his amber eyes at the person from whom the announcement came, a young Asian woman, her long hair adorned with pink flowers and one wild curl. "How do you know this, Lin?" the man at the head of the table asked carefully.

The young woman glanced at a man of about the same age with choppy dark brown hair. "We have our sources, right Leon?" 

Leon nodded. "Yes," he told the man at the head of the table, his voice carrying a slight British accent despite his being Asian. "Hassan saw the police find the body."

The man seated at the head of the table groaned. "The police?" he demanded in exasperation. "Will they find anything, aru?"

"They might," another young man who was seated beside the man at the head of the table replied in a soft voice. "Máximo Ericemdo performed the last abduction. If he wasn't careful, the police might find the abductee's DNA on him."

"How is that possible, aru?" snapped the man with the ponytail in disbelief.

"With all due respect, Boss, it can be found if any skin cells or fingerprints came off on Ericemdo's clothes," Lin explained.

"You should really do more research," Leon grumbled. "Keep up with the times."

"Well that was rude," murmured the man seated beside the Chinese man, pushing his neatly trimmed black bangs out of his eyes.

"It gets worse," added another woman, whose hair was tied back with a ribbon."We think the killer was part of the Vargas Mafia."

"Geudeul jenjang!" shouted a man seated at the far end of the table. His brown, almond shaped eyes were wild with frustration, and the fly away curl in the center of his hairline bounced as he slammed his fist down on the table.

"Calm down," hissed the man who had been addressed as "Boss". "And we don't all speak Korean, aru."

"Oh my gosh, you noticed me!" gushed the man who had shouted before adding, "I said 'damn them'."

"Do you have to swear, Im?" protested the man seated beside he Boss. "It's impolite."

"So is our entire operation, Kiku," the woman with the ponytail snapped.

Lin nodded. "Lien's right. Do you think that it's okay to kidnap and sell children, but not to swear?"

Kiku ducked his head, while Im continued, "Those jerks have always pushed us around! Why won't they let us operate in peace? They always have to get involved! We lie low for a while and give them the city for a bit, and as soon as we start running again, they come and fuck things up!" Several murmurs of agreement could be heard around the table.

A phone rang, and the Boss quickly pulled a flip phone from his pocket. "Nín hao?" There was a brief pause, before the Chinese man demanded, "Another one, Ivan? You just bought one, aru!" There was another pause, then, "I see." While the other Asians around the table glanced uncertainly at each other, the Boss made several affirmative noises, his face flushing, before finally telling the person on the other end, "Well, we just got a new one and lost a man for it. So you can come by and inspect tomorrow." There was another pause, before the Chinese man finally said, "I have to go, so I'll plan on you coming by tomorrow." With that, the Boss pulled the phone away from his ear and snapped it shut.

"That was the Russian," he informed his colleagues. "He's buying our newest vermin tomorrow, so we must be prepared."

"He must really have a thing for these kids," snickered Im. "Isn't this one the last one's kid brother?" 

"Yes," the Boss replied sharply. "Need I remind you that the Russian is our loyal customer, so we will supply him with whatever he wants, aru.

"In the mean time, Im, Nirand, you will keep the police away from us. And Nirand, do not get off task."

A young man with dark, spiky hair and glasses nodded. "Ana~jibun will try," he promised.

"Lin and Leon, keep tabs on the movements of the Vargas asses, but do not get to close, aru. Hassan is expendable. He can be kept at close range, and—"

"I will protect Gupta," Lien announced, glaring daggers at the Boss and twisting her ponytail around one finger.

"Lien—"

"Wang, even if Gupta isn't in our inner circle, he shouldn't be considered expendable. I will protect him."

The Boss sighed. "Well, no one can convince you otherwise, aru, so Lien, you can protect Hassan. But be careful!" he added with a glare. "This meeting is adjourned!"

"And Kiku, before you leave, aru," he added, turning his attention to the small, soft-spoken man beside him.

"Hai?"

"Send Carpusi and Adnan out to gather information on candidates for the next abduction," the Boss instructed.

Kiku nodded. "Heracles and Sadik would be happy to comply, I'm sure," he agreed. "What would you have me do, Yao-Senpai?"

"As my right hand man, I want you to help me prepare for the Russian's visit tomorrow, aru."

"Should we not worry more about the police and the Mafia than the Russian's future purchase?" asked Kiku in a low voice.

Yao Wang sighed. "Later. For now, do not worry about such matters. Neither the police nor the Mafia will find us in one day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy it's my (least) favorite part of this posting business! TRANSLATIONS:  
> Oui, mon ami: Yes, my friend (French)  
> Mis amigos: My friends (Spanish)  
> Nein: No (German)  
> Lo siento: I'm sorry (Spanish)  
> Mi amigo viejo: My old friend (Spanish)  
> Pezzo di merda: Piece of shit (Italian)  
> He hecho el trabajo: I've done the job (Spanish)  
> Hubo algunas complicaciones: There were some complications (Spanish)  
> Quali complicazioni: What complications (Italian)  
> Se siano stati affrontati: Have they been dealt with (Italian)  
> Sí: Yes (Spanish and Italian)  
> Capisci: Understand (Italian)  
> Figlio di una cagna: Son of a bitch (Italian)  
> Geudeul jenjang: Damn them (Korean)  
> Nín hao: Hello (Chinese)  
> Hai: Yes (Japanese)  
> Jibun: What Thailand refers to himself as (rather than "I")
> 
> Yes, I am aware that "Chinese" is not a language, but it's all the Google Translate has. No, I will not be writing out characters for the Asian languages. SHOUT OUT TO GOOGLE TRANSLATE FOR ALWAYS BEING THERE FOR ME, and I apologize if I've offended anyone by completely butchering a translation. 
> 
> Another thing: this is my first time working with the Asian family, so I'm not 100% sure how they should address each other. If I did it wrong, leave the correction in the comments, and I'll be sure to fix the mistake.
> 
> NEW CHARACTERS (human names corresponding to countries):  
> Francis Bonnefoy: France  
> Máximo Ericemdo: Cuba  
> Elizabeta Héderváry: Hungary  
> Yao Wang: China  
> Lin Yi Ling: Taiwan  
> Li Xiao Chun "Leon": Hong Kong  
> Gupta Muhammad Hassan: Egypt  
> Kiku Honda: Japan  
> Lien Chung: Vietnam  
> Im Soo Yong: Korea  
> Ivan Braginsky: Russia  
> Nirand Nok: Thailand  
> Heracles Carpusi: Greece  
> Sadik Adnan: Turkey


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The FBI finds Cuba's body, and Forensics finds evidence as to who dunnit, and as to who else might be connected to the crime. SuFin ensues, as well as a bit of USUK if you look at it that way. On a darker subject, we get our first look into the Asian Family's trafficking center, as seen through the eyes of one of their victims (Latvia).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter is not for the weak of heart, and I apologize if it offends any of you. As always, translations and new characters are in the end notes.
> 
> Finland? Disclaimer?  
> Finland: Oh yeah! Graywolf2010 does not own "Hetalia" or any of its characters, but she does own the woman I talk to in this chapter.  
> Me: He means Paige Galante, as she's an OC.

A loud ringing was the noise that snapped Arthur out of his work. The Brit had been searching desperately for leads to the Vargas Mafia case, but to no avail. He was ready to tear his blonde hair from his scalp or to shoot anyone who walked into his office right between the eyes in frustration, until his phone rang, snapping him out of his frustrated daze.

Warily picking up the phone, Arthur was greeted by an ear-splitting shout of, "Artie, dude, you gotta go to Forensics!" 

"What?" the British agent snapped, rubbing his temples. It wasn't that he didn't care deeply for his American partner, but sometimes Alfred Jones' immature voice could be grating and painful to his ears. "Alfred, what happened to your cold?"

There was an obnoxious laugh on the other end. "I still have it, but I just got a call, and the Forensics dudes have a lead on the Mafia!"

"Doesn't your brother work in Forensics? What is his name? Mark? Michael?"

"Dude, my bro's name is Matthew. You've met him, remember? We're freaking twins! And yeah, he's the one who called me."

"Right," Arthur sighed. "Matthew. Well, I'll rally the team and head over to Forensics."

"I'll meet you there!" Alfred chirped enthusiastically.

Arthur rolled his eyes, although he knew the American couldn't see him. "What about your cold?" he demanded, struggling to keep his frustration out of his voice.

"Whatever, dude. This is so much more exciting than staying at home!"

 

• • •

 

Half an hour later, the team of eager FBI agents hovered around the Forensics department, joined by another agent whose pockets were stuffed with tissues and who was popping potato chips into his mouth, chewing loudly. Arthur glanced around impatiently, only to spot a Forensics agent striding towards him and his team. 

"Agents?" the Forensics agent asked in a soft voice. "Are you here for the lead we found?"

"Hells yeah, Mattie-bro!" the agent with the cold exclaimed through a mouth full of potato chips, accidentally spraying the man from Forensics. "Guys," he added, looking around at his team, "this is my little bro, Mattie."

"Agent Matthew Williams," the Forensics agent introduced himself shyly, before adding in a soft, mildly irritated voice, "and we're twins, Alfred."

Alfred shrugged, as Tino asked curiously, "If you're twins, then why do you have different last names?"

"Mattie decided he had to be more different from me because people always thought he was me, so he changed his name," Alfred explained, grinning from ear to ear at Matthew. 

"I see," Arthur murmured, eyeing Alfred's twin. The two were identical in natural features, yet they couldn't be more different. While Alfred had built up muscle by working out every morning, Matthew was thin, and while Alfred's straw-colored hair was cut short and made distinguishable by a Nantucket-style cowlick, Matthew's was somewhat longer and less tamed, as he had a long curl which flew out in front of his face. Although they both wore glasses, Matthew's were round, yet Alfred's were smaller and more square, and Arthur knew Alfred to be loud, obnoxious, and unpredictable, whereas Matthew seemed quiet and polite. "Agent Arthur Kirkland. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"We've already met," Matthew reminded him gently, but there was something almost passive-aggressive lingering in his sweet voice. 

'Whoever said identical twins are the same,' Arthur decided, 'lied.'

"So what's the background, Mattie-bro?" Alfred asked eagerly. "Fill us in!"

"Last night a body turned up," Matthew began, running his hand through his golden hair. 

"ID?" asked Tino, raising an eyebrow. 

The Forensics agent nodded. "Máximo Ericemdo. He was stabbed in a back alley, and two other bodies were found in the same alley. They had been shot."

"Where does the lead come in?" Vash snapped impatiently from where he stood in the back of the group, phone in hand. 

"We found two prominent sets of fingerprints on Ericemdo's shirt," a female agent with large breasts and short hair informed him in a heavy European accent, approaching the group. "Agent Katyusha Williams," she added glancing around. 

"Married?" Arthur asked mildly, looking from Matthew to Katyusha. 

"That's right," the busty woman replied. 

"I'm assuming that the fingerprints didn't belong to Ericemdo," Arthur stated. "Or else you wouldn't be telling us about them."

"The shirt was also stained with a bit of blood near the hem," a younger Forensics agent added cheerfully, brushing her brown hair out of her dark-complexioned face. "Blood that didn't belong to Ericemdo."

Arthur stared at the young agent. "Whose blood was it, and whose fingerprints, Agent—"

"Talma," the dark woman cut him off cheerily. "Junior Agent Veronique Talma. The blood and one of the sets of fingerprints belonged to a Raivis Galante."

"The other set of fingerprints," Matthew added, "belonged to Antonio Carriedo, according to our data base."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Are Galante and Carriedo connected?" he demanded. 

"Maybe!" said Alfred excitedly. "We should go question this Galante dude!"

"That might be difficult," Matthew whispered.

"Why?" Arthur asked after a momentary pause.

Matthew sighed. "Galante went missing a few days ago. His mother hasn't heard from him, and their older son went missing a few weeks before."

"Mother?" Alfred asked. "How old is this dude?"

"Fifteen. His older brother, Eduard, who also disappeared, is seventeen," Katyusha replied. 

Tino shook his head. "If we can't question Galante, then the next best thing would be to question his mother," he murmured.

Arthur glanced at the shorter agent and found Tino looking up at him with determination in his warm brown eyes. "Alright," the Englishman consented with a small nod. "Väinämöinen, take Oxenstierna with you." He glanced up at Berwald, who looked rather grim. "You two are best suited for this job." 

The Englishman closed his green eyes for a moment, before opening them and staring directly into Alfred's baby blues. "There had better be a connection here, Jones."

Alfred sneezed loudly, and grunted, "Don't you worry, Artie. There will be."

 

 

• • •

 

 

It was a few hours later that day when Berwald Oxenstierna found himself driving his black van down to Tinley Park, Illinois from the FBI's Chicago Field Office. Oz blared from the van's speakers, but it was not accompanied by any heavy metal enthusiast's voice. Berwald glanced over at his husband and partner, worry flooding his senses. Usually, Tino would be screaming along to the Finnish heavy metal band, but today he was quiet. "'Re you 'kay?" the taller agent asked in a heavy Swedish accent, reaching for the volume dial.

"Yes, I'm fine," Tino sighed, placing his small hand in front of the dial in a gesture that said, "If you turn the volume down, you're sleeping on the couch."

The Swedish agent submissively moved away from the dial, but quizzically raised an eyebrow at his Finnish husband. "Y're b'ing qu'et," he observed.

Tino gave his head a small shake. "It's just, talking to someone about their missing children," he began, staring down at his lap. "It's not really the kind of thing we do, is it?"

With an eagle eye, Berwald noticed the sadness and nervousness in the smaller man's eyes, and instinctively reached over and squeezed his hand.

Tino's brown eyes met Berwald's as he offered a small smile. "We're here," the Finnish agent added with a sigh. 

The two Fennoscandian men exited the car as soon as Berwald carefully parked it outside a small, redbrick house. They both strode up the flagstone walkway and took in the sweet smelling garden of daisies in front of the house. They both stood at the doorway, and after Tino rang the doorbell, they both waited patiently to be welcomed inside. 

The door was opened by a plain-looking woman who looked to be in her early forties. Her long brown hair was tied back in a practical braid and was adorned with a black velvet bow, but her makeup was smudged all over her fair skinned face and her blue eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying. She was a woman who might have been beautiful under different circumstances, but now—now she was reduced to a glorious mess. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" the woman asked in a hoarse voice.

Berwald found himself averting his gaze so not to accidentally intimidate the poor creature, but Tino met her bloodshot eyes head on and asked gently, "Are you Paige Galante?"

The woman nodded, blinking in surprise at the short man's accent, and Tino pulled his FBI badge out from his suit jacket, Berwald hastily following suite. "Agents Tino Väinämöinen and Berwald Oxenstierna, FBI."

Galante's jaw dropped slightly, and she stepped to the side, opening the door wider. "Of course," she murmured, her eyes roaming from Tino to Berwald. "Come in."

The two agents stepped inside the house and followed Galante to her living room, before settling down on a plump brown sofa across from Galante. Nervousness overwhelmed Berwald, causing him to glare at nothing in particular. Tino had been right—this wasn't their usual job, and the Swede had never been good at questioning anyway. He glanced at his husband, but Tino's undivided attention was now completely focused on Galante. "Mrs. Galante," the Finnish man began, "are you the mother of Eduard von Block and Raivis Galante?" 

Mrs. Galante nodded timidly. "That's right."

"And where is their father now?" Tino asked gently. 

"I left Eduard's father years ago," the distraught woman responded with a disdainful tone, "and Raivis' father is dead."

'That explains the different last names,' Berwald thought to himself, haphazardly glaring at Mrs. Galante, who flinched.

"Did I say something wrong, agent?" she asked, alarmed and frightened by the Swede's intimidating stare. 

Startled by the question, Berwald quickly averted his gaze, as Tino spluttered, "Ah, no, no! Don't be scared of my partner, Mrs. Galante! He's just taciturn."

'Well,' Berwald concluded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, invisible to all but Tino, 'He was always better at questioning anyways. I guess I'll let him handle this.'

"Okay," the flustered woman before the agents murmured softly, casting one last fearful look at Berwald. 

"Mrs. Galante," Tino began again after a brief pause, "do you recognize this man?" The Finn slid a photo of Antonio Carriedo across the coffee table to Mrs. Galante, who sat stiffly in an armchair across from the two agents. 

Peering at the photograph, Galante shook her head decisively. "Who is he?" she asked, as if to prove her point. "Is he the one who kidnapped my sons?"

"We don't know," Tino admitted, closing his eyes. 

"Mrs. G'lante," Berwald addressed her for the first time, "there w's a b'dy found l'st night."

"Oh god," Galante whimpered, tears welling up in her eyes. "Was it Eduard? Or Raivis?"

"No," Tino quickly assured her, glaring at Berwald in exasperation. "It was a man named Máximo Ericemdo." The Finn pulled yet another photo from his jacket, this one depicting Ericemdo's body. "Recognize him?"

Galante peeked at the picture, then squeezed her eyes shut tight, shaking her head. "No. What's his connection to my sons, agents?"

Tino sighed. "We found your son's fingerprints all over his shirt. Are you sure that they weren't connected in any way."

Galante nodded determinately. "I've never seen him before in my life. You could ask my eldest son, though I doubt he's met this man. Either of the men you've shown me, in fact."

"Your eldest son?" Tino asked, brown eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Where is he and what's his name?"

"His name is Toris Laurinaitis," Galante replied, as Berwald made a mental note that this boy had yet another father. "He's studying journalism at Northwestern University."

"Th't's close t' here?" Berwald growled, jotting down the information, and Galante nodded.

"If you don't mind me asking, agents, what does the man in the first picture have to do with all of this?" 

Tino sent a grim smile in her direction. "That's classified information." 

"I'm sorry," Galante apologized. 

"It's fine," replied Tino cheerfully. "You didn't know." He glanced at Berwald, and said in fluent Finnish, knowing that his partner would be able to understand, "Olen sitä mieltä, että kaikki me tarvitsemme. We'd best go," he added in English.

"Jag har en fråga," Berwald replied in Swedish. 'One of the perks of being married to someone of a different nationality,' he thought brightly, 'is that you learn each other's languages.' The tall agent pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, and made eye contact with Galante, who emitted a terrified squeak. "Where w's the l'st place you saw either of y're s'ns?"

"Near Chinatown," Galante whispered. "They were both near Chinatown before they disappeared."

 

 

• • •

 

 

 

Spiders crawled all over a darkened room which was bordered by small cots. Atop the cots lay children of all ages, stripped bare and left completely exposed, some well nourished, while others were starved and beaten. One small boy, with his frail wrists bound to the legs of the cot, was awakening from an unconscious state, blinking his dark blue eyes rapidly to adjust to the dark.

The boy shivered and looked around, terrified and helpless, as were the children around him. "Hello?" he called out weakly, but his hoarse voice made the whimpering cry nearly inaudible.

"You're new here, aren't you?" The blue-eyed boy's head whipped around as he attempted to locate the source of the question, sending a few blonde curls falling into his face. "I'm right next to you," the voice informed him. 

Upon locating the source of the voice, the blue-eyed boy found himself staring at a scrawny boy about his age whose dyed white hair reached down to his knees, and whose violet eyes practically glowed in the dim light. The blue-eyed boy noticed a dark more standing out against milky white skin under the white-haired boy's left eye, and an ahoge protruding from his choppy bangs. "Do you know what they'll do with you, friend?" the long-haired boy asked in a sophisticated manner, not bothering to introduce himself.

"No," stammered the blue-eyed boy. "And how can you call me your friend? We've never met."

"Fair enough," the white-haired boy agreed with a straight face. "What may I call you?"

"Raivis," the blue-eyed boy whispered. "Raivis Galante."

"And I am Georg Gruber. Pleased to meet you Raivis, although I am sorry to have met in such distasteful circumstances. Say, Raivis, do you think that our names are art?"

"I don't know," Raivis Galante admitted, trembling with cold and terror. "What will they do with me?"

"Why, they'll try to sell you," Georg explained, shuddering. "No one has wanted me yet, thank god."

"What will they sell me to do?"

"Whatever the buyer pleases," whispered Georg, straining against the ropes that bound him to his cot. "It is art of the cruelest form."

Bile rose in Raivis' throat, but he forced himself to choke it back down. 

"Say, where did that cut on your cheek come from?" asked Georg curiously. 

"The man who kidnapped me punched me and knocked me out when I tried to fight back," Raivis explained. He had forgotten about the cut until now. Tears welled in the young boy's eyes, spilling over the levees that were his eyelids and sliding down his dirtied cheeks. "What will Mom and Toris do with both me and Eduard gone?" he whimpered, trying to stifle the silent sobs that wracked his small, naked form.

"Who?"

"My mother and Toris, my oldest half-brother. My other half-brother, Eduard, went missing a few weeks ago."

"Eduard von Block?" Georg asked mildly.

"How did you know?"

"He was here up until last week until some guy with a long scarf and a big nose bought him. He also mentioned having brothers—one older and one younger."

Raivis felt himself beginning to sob even harder, imagining the horrible things that could be happening to his half-brother as he spoke. 

"Stop your weeping," hissed Georg. "It appears rather undignified, and while your tears act as watercolors, your face serves as a poor canvas."

Raivis gasped for air and opened his mouth to reply, when suddenly, a bright light flooded the room. In walked a slight Chinese man with a dark ponytail, followed by a larger man with wavy, ashen blonde hair and violet eyes. A large smile was spread across his face beneath his prominent nose, but was partially hidden behind a long tan scarf. 'This must be the man who bought Eduard,' Raivis realized. 

"I don't understand why you're back here so soon, Ivan," the Chinese man was telling his companion. "You just bought one, and now you want another."

"The first was for my sister, Natalia," the taller man explained in a Russian accent, "though she gave him back to me."

"Why?" the Chinese man demanded, shocked. "He seemed competent." 

"He wasn't her type, but he's doing my house work now. He's a good worker, and he doesn't need much to eat."

'Eduard could eat a horse!' Raivis protested internally, coming to the revelation that his brother was being malnourished. 

"So what is the new one for?" asked the Chinese man raising an eyebrow.

"Like you don't know, Yao," sighed the Russian. "To help with cooking and cleaning, of course."

"Zhèngquè de. Pēngrèn hé quīngjié," Yao muttered under his breath. "Well, Kiku, Heracles, and Sadik can tell you about our products."

Another short Asian man with jet black hair cropped short with clear-cut bangs entered the room flanked by fair-skinned man with choppy brown hair and a double haircurl atop his head, as well as an olive-skinned man with a slightly stubbly chin whose face was obscured by a white mask, covering his eyes. 

The three men led the Chinese and Russian men around the room, as if advertising the children. Upon reaching Georg, the shorter of the two Asian men took a deep breath, and in a monotonous tone, said, "This is one of our oldest products. It is slightly eccentric—"

"Bu şimdiye kadar sanatla ilgili sus değil demektir," grumbled the masked man under his breath, while the fair-skinned man shot him a glare.

"But it would be a good worker with a more artistic side," the short man finished.

"And he would probably make a good lay," added the fair-skinned man in a heavy Greek accent, "as Kiku forgot to mention."

"What of the well-fed one?" the Russian asked in a mild voice, causing Raivis to tremble in fear. "He looks ripe for the picking, so to speak."

"He's new, so we don't know what his assets are," Kiku murmured, but the Russian's childish smile widened.

"We both know that you do not actually test them to find out."

Raivis felt a large hand being placed on his skull, and glanced over at Georg, who was staring in horror. 

"We do know that he is your other one's kid brother," Yao informed the Russian, who beamed at him.

"You would like to see your brother, da?" the Russian asked Raivis amicably, and the trembling boy nodded, biting his lip in an attempt to keep from crying out under the immense pressure on his skull.

The Russian smiled at the four other men, and announced, "I'll take this one."

"Alright," Yao sighed. "We lost a man for this one, aru. He'd better work out."

"Oh, he will," the Russian promised, and Raivis could see something sinister behind his sparkling eyes.

"Okay, well, we'll have him ready for transport in no time at all!" the masked man declared. He pulled a syringe from his pocket and stabbing it into Raivis' arm.

It was all the boy could do not to cry out, as his world began to fade to black. The last thing he saw before sliding into the depths of unconsciousness was the Russian's round, child-like face looming over him, and the last thing he heard was the Russian's accented voice crooning, "We're going to have so much fun, da?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Olen sitä mieltä, että kaikki me tarvitsemme: I think that's all we need (Finnish)…I hate writing in this language  
> Jag har en fråga: I have one more question (Swedish)  
> Zhèngquè de. Pēngrèn hé quīngjié: Right. Cooking and cleaning (Chinese)  
> Bu şimdiye kadar sanatla ilgili sus değil demektir: Meaning he never shuts up about art (Turkish)
> 
>  
> 
> NEW CHARACTERS:  
> New characters:  
> Matthew Williams: Canada  
> Katyusha Williams: Ukraine (note: for purposes of this story, Ukraine is not related to Russia and Belarus, and if she is, she doesn't know)  
> Veronique Talma: Seychelles  
> Raivis Galante: Latvia  
> Eduard von Block: Estonia  
> Paige Galante: OC  
> Toris Laurinaitis: Lithuania  
> Georg Gruber: Kugelmugel (yes, Kugelmugel is in this story)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Austria makes Romano uncomfortable (but passes some valuable information on from Switzerland), Sweden and Finland talk to Lithuania (and Poland), and Turkey, Greece, and Japan are caught in the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always translations and new character are listed at the end. 
> 
> Poland? Disclaimer?
> 
> Poland: graywolf2010, like, totally does not own Hetalia or, like, any of the characters
> 
> Thank you, Poland
> 
> Poland: You're, like, totally welcome

Even when you're a mob boss, eating lunch with your boyfriend's ex was awkward. On principle, Lovino Vargas tried to avoid being alone in a room with Roderich Edelstein at all costs, despite the fact that Roderich had first introduced him to Antonio, but this meeting was inevitable. Any other time, Lovino would have been glad to have Antonio with him for support, but now, now the Spaniard's mere presence was irritating.

"Due to Antonio's sloppy job with Ericemdo," Roderich began with a sharp glare at Antonio, "the FBI got their hands on the body. Their Forensics unit have identified it, and have found evidence against Antonio."

"What evidence?" asked Lovino, leaning forward, his tomato mozzarella sandwich forgotten.

"Fingerprints," Roderich replied, rolling his violet eyes. "They found Antonio's fingerprints on Ericemdo's shirt."

"Cazzo," Lovino hissed, before turning to the Spaniard seated beside him. "Just what were you thinking, ah? Why were your fingerprints on the victim, you bastardo?!"

Antonio winced. "He was my childhood friend," the hit man protested. "I wasn't thinking! I had to say good bye, Roma!"

Dropping his head on the table, Lovino found himself struggling not to strangle the Spaniard, although the Italian internally thanked him for using his pseudonym. 

"There is no room in our job for emotion, Antonio," Roderich sharply reminded the Spaniard. "You should know that."

"Sì, sì," sighed Antonio. "Lo siento!"

"So far, the damage done is minimal," Roderich murmured, after a brief pause. "Other fingerprints were found on the body."

Lovino's head shot up. "Whose fingerprints?" he demanded, nervousness gripping his throat. If these fingerprints could lead to the downfall of his Mafia, radical steps needed to be taken, and quickly. 

"They belong to one Raivis Galante." Roderich took a delicate bite of his sandwich. "He was abducted a few hours before Antonio got to Ericemdo."

"So what are the FBI bastards doing about this?" Lovino asked slowly.

"According to Vash, they're following Galante's case and trying to dig up a connection to us. It's not working."

"So they're on a wild goose chase, ah?"

"Essentially, ja," Roderich sighed discontentedly. "Vash is keeping me updated, so I will inform you if any significant changes in the FBI's hunt occur." 

"Grazie," muttered Lovino, meeting Roderich's violet gaze. "Tell Vash that he is an asset to this operation."

"I'll tell him tonight," the Austrian promised, dipping his head, "although I believe he already knows."

"Eh? You're seeing him tonight?" Antonio gasped loudly, causing Lovino to roll his eyes as several people surrounding their booth glanced over at the three Mafia members. 

Roderich narrowed his eyes and peered judgmentally over the rims of his glasses. "Do you have a problem with that?" 

The Spaniard shook his head, "No, no!" he protested. "But you should try to get some information out of him, among other things."

"Antonio, that's disgusting!" the Austrian spat, momentarily shocked. Regaining composure, Roderich pulled a small wad of cash out of his suit pocket and placed it in the center of the table. "That should pay for my meal. I'll keep you posted, Romano."

Lovino gave a small nod as he watched Roderich strut out of the restaurant. "Quello che hai fatto per?" he asked Antonio quietly.

The Spaniard grinned. "Anyone with eyes could see that he was making you uncomfortable, my little tomato," he purred in response, neglecting to answer in Spanish or Italian.

Lovino glowered for a moment, before begrudgingly muttering, "Grazie, Tomato Bastard."

"De nada. Besides, I am supposed to be your guardaespaldas."

"You shouldn't even be here, dammit. If you're seen—"

"Lo sé, lo sé. But we're being careful, are we not, Roma?"

Lovino grunted, lowering his gaze as Antonio moved to the seat across from him. "What's out next move?" the Spaniard asked, green eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"The Asian Bastards have others tracking children and picking them out for abduction. We should pick them off one by one until we get to the heart of the operation," Lovino growled. "Ludwig tells me that a man called Heracles Carpusi is one of the abductors."

"How does he know that?"

"He hacked into their emails."

"So I should clip Carpusi?" Antonio hissed, a dark grin spreading over his face. 

"How many times have I told you, Tomato Bastard?" snapped Lovino. "You're on the down low. One of the snipers will watch his every move and strike when the time is right. I'm telling you because you know which one of them is most fit for the job. You're closer to any of them than I am."

The hit man shook his head. "Lars hates me, but I suppose you're right about Gil and Bella."

"So which one is most fit?" the Italian urged impatiently. 

"Gilbert is the best," Antonio sighed, "although I wish I could do it myself."

Lovino's gaze softened, and he tentatively placed his hand on the Spaniard's. "You can't, you jerk. I have no doubt that Gilbert will do the job well. I'll give him Carpusi's information as soon as we get back to the safe house."

 

 

 

• • •

 

 

 

"What were you able to dig up, Väinämöinen?" Tino winced at the sharp voice on the phone. Berwald was silent as usual, but the Finn could tell that his husband heard Arthur's question through the phone by the small frown on the Swede's face. 

The two agents were currently in Northwestern University, making their way towards what they were told was Laurinaitis's dormitory, receiving curious glances from students as they passed

"We couldn't find any connection between Carriedo and Galante, or between Ericemdo and Galante for that matter," Tino replied, briefly shutting his chocolate colored eyes. "We're at Northwestern University to interview the oldest son right now."

"What's his name?" Arthur asked, curiosity filling his accented voice. 

"Toris Laurinaitis. Mrs. Galante told us that he might be able to provide further insight."

"Hon sa att det var tveksamt," Berwald grumbled darkly, and Tino held up one small hand to shush him. 

"Right," Arthur's voice was hollow on the other line. "Well, see what you can get out of Laurinaitis, then return to the Bureau. We could use you two here."

"Of course, Agent Kirkland," Tino promised as he and his partner came to a halt outside of a shut door. "Is this it," he added, looking up at Berwald and holding the phone away from his mouth. The Swede grunted in confirmation. "Well, we're here now, so I'll call you back and let you know what happened after this interview is done, kyllä?" 

"Alright," the Englishman sighed. "But make sure you get information out of this fellow."

"We'll try," Tino promised, then hung up. Rapping on the door, the Finn glanced at his partner. "Luulet me voi saada mitään tietoa pois tämä kaveri?"

"Förhoppningsvis." 

The door was opened half-way by a lithe young man of about Tino's height. "Are you, like, here to ask about the party or something?" the small man asked before Tino had the chance to speak. "Because it's been pushed to, like, next weekend."

"Toris Laurinaitis?" the Finnish agent asked, bewildered. 'This young man is nothing like I expected,' he thought to himself. 

The young man blinked his almond-shaped green eyes in surprise. "Who's asking?" he demanded in a suspicious tone.

Pulling his FBI badge from his jacket and watching as Berwald mimicked the gesture, Tino sighed. "Agents Tino Väinämöinen and Berwald Oxenstierna, FBI."

The young man who stood in the doorway was growing visibly nervous, but shook his head rapidly, his straight, chin-length blonde hair swinging. "No, I'm his room  
mate, Feliks Łukasiewicz."

"Is your roomm'te h're?" Berwald asked not unkindly, staring down at Feliks with his usual glare. 

Losing confidence, Feliks was beginning to tremble under the Swede's glare, and stammered, "M-mid-terms are, like, n-next week, so Toris and I totally can't afford distractions. We totally have to study…" the young man trailed off, as Berwald continued to glare. 

'He's probably thinking that we should leave,' Tino realized after a moment, and was about to tell Berwald in Finnish that Arthur was expecting answers, before he was cut off by a shriek of, "LIET!"

Surprised, the two agents witnessed Feliks flinging the door open and scurrying to hide behind a taller young man who had been standing out of sight with the door only half-open. "You must be Toris Laurinaitis, right?" Tino asked lightly, meeting the man's dull blue eyes, and the young man nodded, brushing his shoulder-length brown hair away from his eyes and ignoring the cowering man behind him. "Are there any nicknames we can call you?" Tino persisted, trying to ease the young man into comfort. "Feliks called you Liet."

Laurinaitis shook his head. "He calls me 'Liet' because my father was Lithuanian, and the Lithuanian word for 'Lithuania' is 'Lietuva'. Only Feliks calls me that."

"Okay," Tino said, shifting from one foot to the other. "May we come in?"

Silently, Laurinaitis nodded, and the two agents stepped inside the dormitory, Berwald gently shutting the door behind them. "Mr. Laurinaitis—"

"Toris, please," the young man interrupted. "I mean, you can call me Toris."

"Toris," Tino began again, "you know of your brothers' disappearances, right?"

"Yes," Toris replied quietly, "I've been told. Have you found them?"

"No," murmured Berwald, "but we would like t' ask you s'me questions r'garding their d'sappearences."

Toris took a deep breath, and sank down onto one of the two beds in the room, subsequently bringing Feliks down with him. "Go ahead."

"First of all, we'd like some background, okay?" Tino told the student in an amicable manner. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen," Toris replied steadily.

"And your room mate?"

"Also nineteen."

"And you are studying…?"

"Journalism."

Tino nodded, before showing Toris the picture of Antonio Carriedo. "Have you ever seen this man?" the Finn asked gently. 

Just as his mother had, Toris shook his head. "Never in my life."

"And this man?" Tino pressed on, passing Toris the photograph of Máximo Ericemdo.

Toris narrowed his blue eyes. "No, I haven't seen him," he stated, and Tino suppressed an exasperated sigh. 

"One m're question," Berwald promised, focusing on the half-Lithuanian student, who was now gripping the hand of his smaller room mate. "Did either of your br'thers mention 'nything suspicious b'fore they disappeared?"

"There was one thing," Toris told the agents, gaining confidence. "Last week, Raivis called me and asked me if I could write a story about suspicious activity near Chinatown. I didn't know what he was going on about, but he said that he had seen a Latino man talking to a Chinese man with a ponytail. He said that they had mentioned the Mafia. Then he told me that he thought he had seen the Latino man around the neighborhood, and he felt like he was being followed. He asked me to look into it, and to see if I could uncover some Chinatown Mafia, or people who were going to be killed by the Mafia, but I had to study for mid-terms."

Tino nodded. "Thank you, Toris," he murmured, but the student was trembling.

"Did I get my brother kidnapped? Could I have changed anything?"

Tino was about to answer, but Feliks beat him to it, snapping, "This is, like, totally not your fault, Lietuva."

"Fel'ks is right," Berwald informed the future journalist. "Th're was n'thing you could have d'ne t' prevent it."

Making to leave, Tino smiled at the taller student. "That's all we need, I think," he told the young man. "Thank you—you've been a tremendous help."

"Keep me posted on my brothers' statuses," Toris begged, and Tino nodded, exchanging a melancholy look with Berwald.

"We will."

 

 

 

• • •

 

 

 

It was raining that night, and three men were trapped outside, unable to hail a cab and forced to travel through the back alleys of Chicago. "This is all Heracles's fault," snapped the tallest man, who bore a white mask and an olive parka, in a thick Turkish accent. "If he hadn't suggested that we go out picking out candidates today—"

"Bite me," replied an extremely muscular man, presumably Heracles, in a soft voice, water dripping from his shoulder-length brown hair and running down his long nose.

The masked man looked outraged. "This is your fault, you lazy, dumb moron-guy! It was your idea!"

"No."

"Yes it was!"

"Not true."

"I WILL RIP YOUR HEAD OFF."

"You're in denial—"

"Both of you, please stop!" the third man pleaded in a Japanese accent. The smallest of all three, the man shuddered with cold, his straight-cut black bangs plastered to his forehead. "Things are already bad enough as it is, and it will only get worse if you continue to fight."

Ripping his masked glare away from Heracles, the tallest man continued to mutter under his breath, but did not openly shout at the other.

"Thank you, Sadik-san," murmured the shortest man, shivering, and the masked man grunted in response. "Hera-san," the small man added as Heracles shrugged off his brown jacket and draped it over the cold man's shoulders. 

Sadik was beginning to shed his parka, but the Japanese man held out a hand to stop him. "We should go through potential candidates," he suggested, to which both of his companions nodded in agreement. "Peter Kirkland looked like he would be good at physical labor."

"Because he was scrubbing his porch?" Heracles asked, and the Japanese man nodded. "His brother is in the FBI. I thought we couldn't touch FBI kids."

"What about Lilli Zwingli?" suggested Sadik with a crazed grin. "Gupta told me that her big brother's part of the Mafia."

"Vash Zwingli is in the FBI," Heracles argued. 

"Gupta saw him talking to another Mafia guy, feather brain!"

"Then he's a double agent," the Japanese man cut off Heracles's retort. "Taking his sister would be a double-edged sword. It could get the FBI on our case, but it could also send a warning to the Mafia."

"The FBI is already on our case," Sadik muttered darkly. "Gupta says it was them who took Ericemdo's body, not just the police." 

"Even more reason not to go for Lilli Zwingli," replied Heracles, pushing his dripping hair out of his face. "She's too small for physical labor anyways."

"You know that physical labor isn't the only thing we sell these kids for—just go see what the Russian is doing to that little Galante boy!" Sadik protested. "And besides, she could serve as a warning to the FBI to stay away as well as the Mafia."

"Or she could bring both down on us," Heracles snapped, his soft voice rising. "Dammit!" he added as he stepped in a deep puddle, sending the murky water splashing all over the three men.

"Stop arguing!" the Japanese man hissed. "We all like each other here. Stop, please."

Shooting one last glare at each other, both Sadik and Heracles nodded, and the Japanese man sighed in relief. "Good."

Peace left as soon as it came. Suddenly, blood sprayed from a bullet wound in Heracles's forehead, splattering the Japanese man and staining Sadik's white mask as the muscular man crumpled to the ground.

"Hera!" screamed the Japanese man, rushing towards the fallen form of Heracles. With a wail, the small man frantically shook the body, shrieking, "Wake up, Heracles! PLEASE! Just wake up!"

But Sadik sprang into action, grabbing the smaller man and breaking into a full sprint. "He's gone, Kiku!" the masked man yelled, carrying the smaller man over his shoulder. "We have to get out of here before who ever shot him gets us too!"

Tears streamed down Kiku's face as he screamed into Sadik's shirt, and similar tears welled in the Turk's eyes, but were flushed away by the rain. Everything had happened all at once, and yet it felt as if it had taken eons for Heracles to die. Eons that could have been spent blocking the bullet, or throwing Heracles out of the way, were eons that were instead spent watching a bullet pierce through his skull, and watching him fall. 

Who killed him? Why did Heracles, of all people, have to die? As they ran, neither man could bring himself to look back at the broken body lying on the wet ground of the alleyway, blood mixing with water and running from puddle to puddle until everything was red. But the rain kept on pouring. And the blood kept on rushing. And the men kept on running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Cazzo: Fuck (Italian)  
> Sì: Yes (Spanish)  
> Lo siento: I'm sorry (Spanish)  
> Ja: Yes (German)  
> Grazie: Thank you (Italian)  
> Quello che hai fatto per: What did you do that for (Italian)  
> De nada: You're welcome (Spanish)  
> Guardaespaldas: Body guard (Spanish)  
> Lo sé: I know (Spanish)  
> Hon sa att det var tveksamt: She said it was doubtful (Swedish)  
> Kyllä: Yes (Finnish)  
> Luulet me voi saada mitään tietoa pois tämä kaveri: Do you think we can get any information out of this guy (Finnish)  
> Förhoppningsvis: Hopefully (Swedish)  
> Lietuva: Lithuania (Lithuanian)
> 
> Once again, THANK YOU GOOGLE TRANSLATE, and I apologize if anything was mistranslated.
> 
> NEW CHARACTERS:  
> Toris Laurinaitis—Lithuania  
> Feliks Łukasiewicz—Poland


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gilbert The Sniper faces a dilemma, Kiku discusses Heracles's potential candidates with Yao, and Vash and his team at the FBI uncover some chilling information (and SwissAus ensues).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for not posting last weekend. I was on vacation and completely forgot to post. Also, sorry if this chapter is a bit rough—one of my two betas is sick and didn't have time to read this through. The other did, though.
> 
> Disclaimer:   
> Me: Gilbert? Disclaimer?  
> Gilbert: graywolf2010 does not own zhe awesome Hetalia, or ZHE AWESOME ME!!!

Gilbert Beilschmidt stayed crouched atop the building, both hands on his sniper rifle. Pleased, the albino watched as the two men beside his victim fled, before turning his attention back to the damage he had done. The rain beat down upon the sniper, rivulets of the cold liquid running freely down the sides of his face and dripping from the muzzle of his rifle. Yes, the weather was cruel, but it was the kind of cruelty he could handle. 

The body of Heracles Carpusi lay twisted on the ground below, blood blossoming from the bullet wound in his skull, inflicted by none other than Gilbert himself. Scarlet bloomed like a cherry blossom, one puddle quickly becoming many, until every puddle in the alley was ruby red, all with a single broken body in the center. 

"Target down," the German sighed into his earpiece. 

There was a muffled yell on the other end, followed by a clearly irritated shout in Italian. "Any witnesses?" Lovino's voice rang in Gilbert's ear. 

"Two. They seemed to be friends with the target."

"Did you take care of them?"

Gilbert paused, struggling to find a way to explain to his boss why he had not killed the other two. Truth be told, he had not had the heart to kill two people without proof that they were even associated with the Asian traffickers. They might have been walking with Carpusi, but that did not guarantee that they knew what his job was. After all, Francis, one of Gilbert's own best friends, had no idea who he truly was, or who he and his brother worked for. "Nein," he finally heaved, bracing himself for the verbal beating that was sure to follow.

"Idiota!" Lovino roared into the earpiece, causing Gilbert to wince in pain. "What were you thinking, ah? They could have been involved! And they saw Carpusi's death! They could warn the other Asian bastardi! What the hell happened to 'no witnesses', Beilschmidt?!"

"Exactly!" the albino exclaimed, a bit louder than intended. "They could warn their bosses to stop taking kids, because if they don't, we'll just kill more of them!"

"Or they could come after us, dammit!"

"Vargas, they didn't even see me. I'm too awesome a sniper to be seen."

"That doesn't matter, bastard! They'll know it was us!"

Gilbert suppressed a groan. "We don't even know that they work for the same people as Carpusi," he protested. "Toni and I have a friend who doesn't know that we're in the Mafia."

"Which is unacceptable. Antonio is the only reason I haven't killed him myself."

Feeling his lip beginning to curl, the German snarled, "Vargas, you play a dangerous game. Having friends on the outside can help. The bottom line is, I didn't kill them, and they got away. What do you want me to do? Chase after them?!"

Suddenly, Gilbert heard voices drifting up from the alley.

"Great place to smoke, right?" a teenage boy was saying to his friends. 

"Dude," another chimed in slowly, "I am so high right now. The water's red."

A third snorted. "Well, there's a guy that's even more stoned than you."

Gilbert watched in horror as the three teens made their way over to Carpusi's body, and their shrieks filled the air. "Are those more witnesses?!" Lovino demanded into the earpiece. 

"They just came into the alley and found the body," hissed Gilbert, ducking out of sight. Peering over the edge of the building, he added, "One of them is calling someone."

"Merda!" screeched Lovino in a panic. "Probably calling the cops! Please tell me you'll shoot these guys."

"They're kids, Romano! I can't shoot kids," Gilbert pleaded.

"So I thought," Lovino snarled. "Get your ungrateful ass down the damned safe house. We'll talk then. I've sent the Hendriks siblings to your location."

"What?!" Gilbert yelled, and his red eyes widened as he watched all three heads snap towards him. "Shit…RUN!" he shouted to the teens. He had already been seen, so what was there to lose? He might not have wanted to shoot the teens, but he knew that he was the most soft-hearted of all the snipers, and he knew that Lars and Bella Hendriks would not be so kind. 

Before any of them had time to register, bullets spiraled into their hearts, spraying even more blood throughout the alley. Gilbert frantically scanned the rooftops around him, before his crimson eyes finally landed on a man with spiky hair and a scar on his forehead, a long pipe protruding from between his lips, and a woman who wore a headband, each holding a sniper rifle. "They were kids!" he howled into his earpiece, and a new voice came on.

"They were witnesses," the new voice, which was low and carried a heavy Dutch accent, growled. "You couldn't kill them, Beilschmidt, so we did."

"Damn you, Lars!" Gilbert roared in outrage. "You have a little sister! How could you even dream of shooting a minor?!"

"Bella and I weren't close as kids," Lars snapped. 

"Is that all you have to say?!"

"We cleaned up your mess, Gil," a female voice warned into the earpiece. "Come back to the safe house."

"I never thought you could ever be this un-awesome, Bella."

"Well," the female voice hissed, "I can be." 

Casting one last glance at the four bodies in the alleyway, Gilbert shut his red eyes. So much blood. All his fault.

 

 

 

• • •

 

 

 

"Heracles is dead." 

Yao Wang stared incredulously from his seat on the sofa at the man who stood before him. The speaker, the small Japanese man who had been with Carpusi at the moment of his death, had become nothing more than a hollow shell of a man, his voice empty and lifeless. 

"How, aru?" the Chinese man demanded, tying his long hair back into a makeshift ponytail. 

"He was shot," the speaker reported in a monotone. "We were unable to locate the assassin."

"It was a Mafia sniper," spat the Japanese man's remaining companion, still adorned in his blood-spattered mask. "It had to have been. Heracles was annoying, but he was still friends with almost the entire population of Chicago."

Yao closed his eyes slowly and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "This is the second man we've lost this week, aru," he whispered, and the Japanese man nodded.

Sadik, however, stood stock still. "Well," the Turk finally replied, "you're about to lose one more."

"What?" the Japanese man gasped suddenly, regaining a small spark of emotion. 

With a crazed grin, Sadik let out an unhinged cackle. "This job has become too dangerous, Kiku," he gasped between bouts of laughter. "First Ericemdo, now Heracles—the Mafia has us by the balls, and I'm pulling out before they get me too, Kiku." He turned to the Japanese man and finally hissed, "I suggest you do the same."

"Sadik-san, please," Kiku begged, but it was too late. In one fluid motion, Sadik swept the once-white mask from off his face to reveal sallow skin, deprived of the light of day, and dark eyes. The mask seemed to take eons to clatter to the ground, for although it had been weighed with the duty of concealing the face of a monster, those who watched it fall refused to accept that it would no longer be necessary in the monster's life. 

"I'll see you around." Sadik turned on his heel and stormed out of Yao's apartment, leaving Kiku to pick up the mask and hold it to his heart. 

"There you have it," the small Japanese man whispered brokenly, and Yao felt his heart wrench in his chest. "They're both gone."

"Surely Adnan will come back once the Mafia is gone, aru?" Yao asked anxiously, attempting to remain reasonable.

"Perhaps," Kiku agreed, "but it is unlikely."

Yao sighed, absentmindedly tugging at his long ponytail. "We need to find a way to get the Vargases away from us," he growled.

After a long moment of, Kiku murmured, "Before Heracles died, we were discussing a possible way of warning the Mafia to stay away."

Yao's eyes widened, and his head shot up. "What is it, aru?"

Kiku stared at his feet, before whispering, "We take something important to them. Not so important that they all come after us, but important enough that they know to stay away." His dark eyes met Yao's. "Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Comprehending his colleague's message, Yao nodded. "You can't do this, aru," he told Kiku after a moment. "Carpusi's killer has most likely seen your face."

"Then what do you propose?"

A small grin spread over the Chinese man's face. "Give me a name, aru," he hissed, "and I'll see that it gets done."

 

 

• • •

 

 

 

"Big Brother. Big Brother, wake up." 

Vash Zwingli's green eyes cracked open from a restless sleep to see his younger sister leaning over him, her short blonde hair nearly touching the tip of his nose. "Lili?" he asked groggily, rubbing his eyes. The double agent glanced sleepily over at his clock, wondering if it was truly time to bring his sister to school. The time read 1:27 A.M. "What is it?"

"Your phone rang," Lili replied timidly. "I picked it up for you." 

Shooting up, Vash felt panic clawing at him. "Who was it?" he demanded, now fully awake. 

"It was Agent Arthur," the young girl answered in confusion. "He's still there." She held up Vash's phone.

Sighing in relief, Vash extended his arm and waited with an open palm. "Give it here, then. And please, Lili, don't ever answer my phone again."

"I'm sorry, Big Brother," Lili apologized mournfully, handing over the phone.

"It's alright," the double agent sighed, reaching up to ruffle his sister's hair affectionately. "Just don't do it again." Bringing the phone up to his ear, Vash prepared himself for the worst. "Kirkland?"

"Zwingli, we need you at Forensics. They found four more bodies."

"Four?!" Vash echoed in disbelief. "How were they found?" 

"I'll tell you when you get here. Just wake up, take Lili to a friend's house, and get to Forensics immediately." With that, the Brit hung up.

With an irritated sigh, Vash turned to his sister. "Lili, pack your things. We're going to Matilda's house."

"But why?"

"Because I have work. Get your stuff together."

As soon as Lili left the room, Vash found himself dialing the number of a certain Austrian member of the Mafia. "Roderich?"

"Vash?" a tired voice answered after the first ring, tainted in confusion. "What is it? Why are you are you calling this early? Is something wrong?"

Vash closed his eyes for a moment, before replying in a soft voice, "Haben Sie mit einem Mord beteiligt?

"What?" Roderich demanded, now fully awake. 

"You heard me," Vash growled. "Just please tell me that you didn't do anything."

There was a small chuckle on the other end, before Roderich replied, "Well, I do work for the Mafia. I'm bound to kill someone at some point. But no, I have not recently been involved with a murder."

"Who was?" Vash hissed into the phone. "Kirkland just called me over to Forensics with news of four more bodies, and he wouldn't be interested if you guys weren't involved."

"Well," Roderich replied after a brief pause, "Gilbert did snipe a man and Bella and Lars sniped the people who found the body. They were teenagers, so Gilbert refused to shoot." There was another pause, before the Austrian added cautiously, "Do you think your team could possibly catch the snipers?"

"Not without the witnesses," Vash sighed. "Alright, well, I have to bring Lili to her friend's house so I can get to work."

"Vash, it's one in the morning. Can your work not wait?"

"No, it can't. I'll tell you what happens when I get the chance, okay?" the double agent promised.

There was an unhappy sigh on the other end, before Roderich finally confessed, "I hate it that everything is so urgent with your job, Vash. Why can't you just switch to our side permanently?"

Vash ran a hand tiredly through his tousled blonde hair. "Du weißt warum," he responded. "Ich muss Neutralität zu wahren. For Lili's sake, if not mine."

"Do you realize how dangerous this is? This game that you're playing? What happens if you get caught? Life imprisonment, Vash! And if we weren't in Illinois, capital punishment! If you just fully joined our organization, you'd be welcomed with open arms! We would protect you and Lili."

"Don't worry about me," Vash replied through gritted teeth. "I'll be fine. I have my little sister to think about."

There was a loud slamming of piano keys on the other end, leading Vash to assume that Roderich had migrated from his bed to his beloved piano, and was taking his frustration out on the poor instrument. "Of course I worry about you!" the Austrian snapped, and Vash shook his head. "You're risking the most out of all of us!"

"Roderich, I need to get to work," Vash groaned, pushing himself out of bed and groping blindly a shirt. "I'll call you back."

"I'm expecting that call," Roderich heaved. "I lost Antonio to Romano and Elizabeta to Gilbert, but I won't lose you to the FBI." 

The line went dead.

 

 

At 1:51 A.M., Vash found himself leaning on a table in the FBI Forensics lab, attempting to ignore his annoying American teammate, who was currently pestering him, as well as one Arthur Kirkland. "So Zwingli," Arthur began, awkwardly attempting to make conversation, "what did you do with Lili?"

"I dropped her off at her friend's house, like you suggested," Vash responded shortly, narrowing his eyes at the taller man. "I'm just glad that the girl's father gets along with me because—JONES, WENN SIE MICH NOCH EINMAL ZU DRÜCKEN, ICH WERDE SCHIEßEN!"

The American backed away, laughing. "Dude, I don't speak Swiss."

"GERMAN!" Vash spat. "I'M SPEAKING GERMAN, BLÖDMANN!"

"I thought you were Swiss?" Alfred protested, as Vash struggled not to succumb to the urge to throttle the ignorant American.

"I am Swiss!"

"But—"

Arthur cut him off, holding up a hand to silence both Alfred and Vash. "In Switzerland, there are three cantons: French, German, and Italian. Zwingli grew up speaking German. Is that correct?" the Briton added, turning to Vash and raising one of his formidable eyebrows for confirmation.

'Mein gott,' the Swiss thought to himself. 'It looks like a furry caterpillar.' However, he simply nodded angrily, replying, "Ja, although I also learned French and bits of Italian."

In the background, Matthew and Katyusha Williams were speaking with Tino, Berwald, Matthias, Lukas, and Emil, but Vash wasn't paying attention. "So how were these bodies found?" he asked Arthur in a low voice.

With that, the silly grin vanished from Alfred's face. "Dude, you didn't tell him?" the American asked Arthur, his eyes wide behind his rectangular glasses. 

Arthur was staring at his feet. "They've all been shot," he stated plainly.

"Well no sheiß," Vash growled, gesturing at the bullet wound in the oldest body's head. "I meant, how were they located."

With a sigh, Arthur admitted, "One of the teenagers called a reported finding a body with his friends. He gave the location."

"So we could have saved the kids if we'd gotten there faster," concluded Alfred quietly, sadness lingering in his voice. 

"We think only one of the murders was actually planned," Arthur told Vash angrily. "The others were just bloody casualties. Killing witnesses seems to be the name of the game, just like the bloody prostitute and the other man who were found with Ericemdo's body."

"Which one?" Vash inquired not insensitively, analyzing the large body before him.

"Mattie says that the dude who you're checking out right now was the first to die, so probably him," Alfred informed him. "Apparently his name was 'Heracles Carpusi'."

"Do we have any idea who killed him? I'll assume whoever it was, they were in the Mafia, or else we wouldn't be here." 

Alfred's blue eyes sparkled. "Get this dude," he gushed. "We found this in his pocket!" The eager American handed Vash a small photograph of Carpusi, his right arm around an olive-skinned man wearing a white mask, and his left slung over the broad shoulders of none other than Máximo Ericemdo. 

"Are we thinking Carriedo did this?" Vash asked slowly. From Roderich's account of the incident, he knew very well that Gilbert Beilschmidt had committed the crime, and though he had never met Beilschmidt, he knew that the man was a skilled sniper. If the team didn't know about the Vargas Mafia's three snipers, they would all be safer, and they would stay one step further from the Mafia. 

"We don't know," Arthur admitted. "Guns aren't really his style—most of his kills have been stabbings. But what we do know us that the murders were connected, so the murderers most likely were too."

"Yeah, and Mattie says that the angle of the shot looks like it came from above, so it was probably a sniper or something. How cool is that?!" Alfred added enthusiastically, and Vash inwardly groaned.

"Agents?" a timid voice asked, and the three men turned to see Veronique Talma standing behind them. "There's something else that you should probably know."

"What is it?" Arthur asked in a tired voice.

"We found this on the body," Veronique told them, holding up a small, pen-like voice recorder. "Whomever he was working for must've wanted to hear his conversation. Should we listen?"

"Of course," Vash snapped, beating Arthur and Alfred to it. He knew very well who Heracles Carpusi worked for, and he was determined to have something to report back to Roderich. Hearing this tape could potentially give the Mafia the upper hand in this war.

Rounding up the Nordic agents, the team, along with Matthew and Katyusha, followed Veronique into her office, a small, cozy room stuffed with a standard desk, a lamp, and a plushy armchair. She pushed the playback button. 

The recorded conversation began with a quarrel between two men, both sporting Mediterranean accents. The argument ended with a third man begging the first two to stop, before addressing them as "Sadik-san" and Hera-san". 

"So Carpusi was with two other men at the time of his death?" Emil asked slowly, to which Lukas nodded. "But that doesn't add up," the youngest agent protested. "The other bodies were all teenagers, and there were three of them; not two."

"Emil's right," Lukas agreed with his brother. "The kid who called said there was one body—not three."

"And he said he was with friends," added Matthias, ruffling Lukas's hair and ducking as the Norwegian agent took a swing at his head. "So if his friends were the other kids, who the hell was Carpussy talking to?"

"It's 'Carpusi'," Vash growled, "and you're all ignoring the biggest hole in all of this: one of those men called the other 'Sadik'. The victims have been identified, and none of them are named 'Sadik'."

"Shut up," snapped Arthur irritably. "We're supposed to be listening to this conversation."

"'We should go through potential candidates,'" came from the voice recorder. 

"Candidates for what?" Alfred whispered, but Vash knew all too well.

"'Peter Kirkland looked like he would be good at physical labor.'" Arthur's green eyes widened, and his knuckles went white. 

"Isn't that your little brother?" Alfred gasped, covering up the recording. 

"Yes!" spat Arthur, who had begun to pace frantically. "These are the people who kidnapped Raivis Galante and probably Eduard von Block too! They take children, and now they're coming after my brother. I need to call my family—"

Tino was gripping Berwald's hand, while Matthias was frantically flailing his arms, accidentally hitting both Emil and Lukas. Meanwhile, Vash was desperately attempting to listen to the rest of the recording , but only managed to catch two words: "Lili Zwingli."

That's when the entire team lost their heads, and the rest of the recording went unheard. In a daze, Vash felt his feet carrying him out of the room, out of the building, and into his car. As if on their own accord, his fingers, shaking like mad, dialed Roderich's number. The Austrian picked up after the first ring. "Vash?" Roderich's voice sounded eager. "What did you learn?"

"One of Carpusi's accomplices was a man named Sadik, and the other was Japanese, based on his use of the suffix 'san'. Possible new targets include Peter Kirkland and," Vash drew a shaky breath, and whispered, "Lili Zwingli."

There was a sharp intake of air on the other end. "Okay, Vash, stay calm," Roderich said, speaking hurriedly. "Where is Lili right now?"

"At her friend's house," Vash responded, struggling to keep panic from overwhelming him. 

"Get to her right now, and don't take your eyes off her, even for a second," Roderich instructed in a sharp tone. "Did you say that Peter Kirkland was one of the potential abductees?"

"Yes."

"His brother is the head of your division, is he not?"

"He is."

"Good," the Austrian breathed. "Perhaps the FBI will begin to pay more attention to these bastards."

Vash rolled his eyes, starting the car. "That's not how this works, Edelstein," he snapped. "I have to go. Mein gott, I have to go right now."

"Go," Roderich murmured. He did not badger Vash for more information, and he did not attempt to stop the double agent from hanging up the phone.

Just as Vash was about to pull out of his parking space, there was a tap on his window. It was Arthur.

"Zwingli, where did the recorder go?" the British agent was yelling, and Vash realized that he had brought the recording with him to the car, and that he had played the entire conversation without listening to a word beyond his sister's name. 

The Swiss rolled down the window, and did his best to shoot Arthur an apologetic smile, handing him the recorder. "Apologies," he murmured, mimicking the false sincerity at which Roderich excelled. "I didn't realize that I brought this with me."

"It's quite alright," Arthur growled unconvincingly, sounding slightly irritated. "Did you listen the conversation? Can we replay it?"

"I think it only plays once," Vash admitted, and Arthur's fists clenched, "but I did listen to it. I'll tell you later."

"Zwingli, you will tell me now," Arthur spat, but Vash shook his head frantically. 

"They're going after my sister," he snarled, pulling the car out. "I have to get her."

Vash was almost out of the parking lot when he got the call. "Jett?" he mumbled. "I'm so sorry about this, but I'll be picking Lili up now. Please wake her—"

"Vash," the voice on the other end was panicked. "Someone broke into our house. My wife and I woke up to Matilda screaming, but by the time we got to the room, she was gone."

The double agent's blood ran cold. "Who was gone?" he managed to choke out.

"Whoever broke in. And the bastard took Lili with him. She's gone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:  
> Nein: No (German)  
> Idiota: Idiot (Italian)  
> Bastardi: Bastards (Italian)  
> Merda: Shit (Italian)  
> Haben Sie mit einem Mord beteiligt: Were you involved in a murder (German)  
> Du weißt warum: You know why (German)  
> Ich muss Neutralität zu wahren: I need to maintain neutrality (German)  
> Wenn Sie mich noch einmal zu drücken , ich werde schießen: If you push me again, I'll shoot (German)  
> BLÖDMANN: Dumbass (German)  
> Sheiß: Shit (German)  
> Mein gott: My god (German)  
> Ja: Yes (German)
> 
> MEIN GOTT! THERE WAS A LOT OF GERMAN IN THIS CHAPTER!
> 
> NEW CHARACTERS:  
> Jett Sherman—Australia  
> Matilda Sherman—Wy
> 
> In this fic, Jett is Matilda's dad, even though he's her brother in canon


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Austria is angry on his boyfriend's behalf, Romano has an idea that could make or break the Mafia and makes the call, Switzerland ain't holding up too well after Liechtenstein's abduction, and China realizes that he's made a fatal error.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO POST! First I was out of town and then I had my AP tests and then came finals and at that point I had writers block, but it's up now and I'm going to try to get back on track. However, I will be gone for the next three weeks, so it might be a while until the next update. Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> Austria? Disclaimer?  
> Austria: *sighs* Fine. graywolf2010 does not own Hetalia or any of its characters, although she does own a piano and a violin. Maybe perhaps she'll let me play the piano…  
> Thank you Austria, and I will consider letting you play my instruments.

"Lili Zwingli has been abducted." Roderich Edelstein's nasal voice rang throughout the small office. 

The Austrian watched, glaring from behind his wire-rimmed glasses, as Lovino Vargas raised one delicate eyebrow. "Who?" the mob boss inquired, drawing a sip of wine from his glass. The small Italian was sitting behind a desk, where he had been absentmindedly cleaning his pistol. 

"Vash Zwingli's younger sister," Roderich snapped, and smirked as the Italian attempted to stifle a wince. He knew very well that Lovino was uncomfortable being alone with him, and he was going to use this to his advantage even if it wound up killing him. "Our mole at the FBI, or did you forget him too?"

"Of course I remember Zwingli!" Lovino exploded, shooting to his feet, pistol clattering to the hardwood floor. "Your little boyfriend, right? The one who would be dead if he wasn't so useful?"

But despite the Italian's tough talk, Roderich could see that he was growing increasingly unnerved. Gaining confidence, the Austrian sneered, "You wouldn't dare, Vargas. I've been a part of this Mafia far longer than you have, or don't you remember? I trained both Feliciano and Antonio, and I would have inherited this Mafia if it wasn't for you and your brother, or need I remind you?"

"What is your point in all of this, Edelstein?" Lovino growled, furrowing his brows.

"Like I said," Roderich replied harshly, "Lili Zwingli has been abducted by the Asian Family Traffickers."

"And what, exactly, do you propose we do about it?" the Italian demanded with a murderous look marring his handsome face. 

"I propose that we attack them!" snarled Roderich, slamming his open palm against the desk. "Infiltrate them and get Lili and all the other children back!" 

"If you hadn't noticed, Piano Bastard, we've been attacking them," Lovino all but screamed at the Austrian. Taken aback, Roderich jerked away and readjusted his glasses, but Lovino was just getting started. "You figlio di una cagna! We've sent hit men and snipers to kill their men, but if anything, it's just encouraging them. And how the hell should we infiltrate them, ah? You come up with these ideas, Piano Bastard, but you don't use logic to back them."

"Lili Zwingli was taken as a warning for us to back off. We cannot let these bastards get away with this."

Suddenly, the office door burst open, and a small auburn-haired man with a gravity-defying curl similar to that of Lovino stumbled in, followed by an extremely muscular blond, whose piercing blue eyes were glued to his companion, as if the smaller man was a young child. "Fratello!" shrieked the auburn-haired man, flinging himself at Lovino's desk.

"Feliciano?" Roderich asked in surprise, raising a questioning eyebrow at the small man, before glancing up at his blonde companion. "Ludwig? What are you doing in here?"

"Sí!" agreed Lovino, absentmindedly flicking Feliciano's forehead. "Why are you in my office? Edelstein and I were talking!"

"Ve~we just wanted to come see you, Fratello! Also, I made pasta in the safe house kitchen and Toni is in there—" 

Feliciano was cut off by Ludwig pulling him off of the desk and slapping a large hand over his mouth. "Sei still!" the blond man commanded in a booming voice, and the small Italian in his arms shook in what Roderich assumed to be fear. "We've found some information on the Traffickers, and I'm sure it's more important than whatever you and Edelstein were discussing."

Lovino's lip curled upwards, and Roderich shrank back, not wanting to get in between the mob boss and Ludwig. He knew full well that the two openly despised each other, and the only person who kept them from killing each other was Feliciano. 'After all,' Roderich thought to himself, 'how could Lovino take the life of the man his brother loves? And how could Ludwig kill his lover's brother? Feliciano and Lovino are so close, Feli would never recover.'

"What sort of information, Potato Bastard?" Lovino growled slowly, his amber eyes meeting Ludwig's piercing blue and completely ignoring his brother. 

"We've been hacked and bugged," Feliciano replied helpfully, but Ludwig only tightened his grip on the Italian, silencing him. 

"Che cazzo hai detto, è poco merda?!" demanded the older Italian, his glare snapping down to his brother. 

"In short," Ludwig sighed, "we're being watched, presumably by the Traffickers."

Staring down at his desk, Lovino murmured in a soft voice, "Edelstein, get out."

With a half-hearted dip of his head, Roderich exited the office, gently shutting the door behind him and leaning against the wall next to it.

"Hey, Roderich!" an accented female voice called from down the hall.

The Austrian pushed his wire-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose, before turning toward the source of the voice. "Hallo, Elizabeta," he greeted the woman who was now walking toward him, her long, brown hair fanning out behind her. He sighed. Elizabeta was his best friend, as well as his ex-girlfriend, but her enthusiasm was not a thing that he was in the mood for dealing with. "Where's Gilbert?" he asked, knowing that if Elizabeta was there, her albino boyfriend wouldn't be far. 

"He's at home," Elizabeta replied, rolling her green eyes in exasperation. "Lovino isn't very pleased with him right now, so he's under Mafia-issued house arrest until we need him."

"Is this about his refusal to kill the witnesses to Carpusi's murder?" Roderich inquired in exasperation. Elizabeta nodded. 

"So what were you doing in Lovino's office?" Curiosity tainted Elizabeta's voice.

"Vash's younger sister was taken by the Asian Traffickers," Roderich growled, all politeness forgotten. "I was telling Lovino that we need to find a way to infiltrate them and rescue all of those children."

"Not really our style, Roderich," Elizabeta reminded him. "We usually go at them guns blazing."

"And it hasn't worked so far, has it? They're still at it, Elizabeta."

The green-eyed woman nodded, before murmuring, "You really care for Vash, don't you?"

"I do."

"I hope it works out for you, Roderich. I just wish I could meet him."

Roderich shook his head. "You know that he's only allowed to interact with one member of our Mafia, who will relay messages to Lovino and the others."

Suddenly, the door opened, and Ludwig's head popped out. "Roderich, we need you in here."

Confused, Roderich stepped into the office to find Lovino with his head on his desk, Feliciano experimentally poking his head. "Edelstein," the former groaned, not lifting his head, "it appears we'll be taking drastic measures to get rid of those Asian bastardi once and for all."

"What kind of drastic measures?" Roderich asked carefully. 

"We're going to try to team up with Vash and the FBI," Ludwig explained before Feliciano could jump in. 

"How could that possibly work?" demanded Roderich in disbelief.

"We believe that now that Vash has a motive, his team might help us take the Traffickers down," said Ludwig. 

"That's not how this works." Roderich found himself quoting Vash.

"Well, it might," snarled Lovino. His hand found the cell phone lying on his desk, and he nullified his number. "I'm making the call tonight. Until then, we can come up with a plan. Get Antonio in here right now."

 

 

 

 

• • •

 

 

 

It was the following morning that Arthur Kirkland gathered his team in his office to discuss the phone call he had received the night prior**. 

Arthur felt pity for his poor team; they were all bedraggled, as it had been a sleepless night for all of them. Alfred, Arthur's own partner, was completely hungover, his blond hair sticking up every which way and dark circles forming under his blue eyes. His breath reeked of vomit and stale vodka, and traces of sick lingered in the corners of his mouth. Likewise, Matthias appeared to have similar symptoms, and his partner, Lukas, was downing his fifth mug of coffee. Emil was trembling in his seat from sleep deprivation, and Berwald appeared to be falling asleep on his feet, his glasses askew. Out of all of the agents, Tino seemed the most composed, though his brown eyes were slightly bloodshot.

Vash was a complete disaster. His chin-length hair was a matted mess, and his eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Alcohol had been spilled all over his shirt, and his hands seemed to be itching to grab his gun, aim it at himself, and pull the trigger. Tears spilled over his eyelids every few moments, but the Swiss seemed determined to remain strong, furiously scrubbing the tears away.

How could Arthur blame him? Wincing, the Britton recalled the previous day's events: after the unexpected call from the panicked father of Lili Zwingli's friend, Vash had rushed to the site if his sister's disappearance, accompanied by the rest of the team. There, the father had informed Vash that he had simply heard screaming, followed by a crash. By the time he reached his daughter's room, where Lili had slumbered, Lili was gone, the window had been lifted open, and his daughter was screaming about a man in a ponytail. Vash had collapsed where he stood, breaking down into sobs, while the older man awkwardly patted his back. 

The pats did not offer much comfort, but Lili's friend had.

The young girl had timidly crept toward Vash and wrapped her small arms around his neck. Instantly, Vash had clutched her small body against his, not letting go and sobbing on the tiny creature's shoulder. As the Swiss agent gasped broken fragments of German between sobs, the young girl had begun to cry and grip Vash tighter until both were disasters, clutching each other for dear life and both repeating the same word on loop: "Lili."

All Arthur could think of was how clever he had been in calling his parents, telling them to take his younger brother, Peter, on vacation. He had not given the reason.

Now, with all the rumpled agents in the room, he awkwardly cleared his throat. "I received a phone call last night," he began in a raspy voice, "from a man who referred to himself as 'Romano'. He was from the Vargas Mafia." 

There were several sharp gasps, and Alfred all but screamed, "What the hell was that dude thinking, calling the FBI? I thought these guys were supposed to be smart!"

"He was smart enough to have blocked any means of tracing the call," Arthur replied grimly. "Anyways, what he wants is to collaborate with us. Apparently the Mafia is at war with a group of human traffickers—the same people who apparently abducted Raivis Galante, Eduard von Block, and Lili, as well as a host of others. Romano suggested that we team up to take those wankers down."

Vash shot up from his seat. "Obviously we have to work with them!" he spat, not bothering to wipe the tears from his cheeks. "They're trying to save Lili and the others—the least we could do is help!"

"Zwingli, that's not how we work, and you know it," snapped Tino, narrowing his brown eyes at the Swiss. "We're trying to catch the Mafia, not help them."

Arthur opened his mouth to add to Tino's statement, but he was cut off by Vash. "If we work with them to take out the Traffickers, we would decrease Mafia activity and increase safety for everyone in the Chicago area. If the Vargas brothers are truly at war with these people, there will be civilian casualties, but if we help to end the war quickly, we can keep any civilians from dying."

"But—" Tino protested, but he was interrupted.

"Zwingli has a point, Väinämöinen," Arthur murmured, pondering Vash's statement. Although he was well aware that Vash's only mission now was to save his sister, his argument was completely valid. 

"Vash," Tino began gently, addressing the Swiss by first name, "you're tired, and I understand that you're worried about your sister. Why don't you take the day off? You're not thinking clearly."

"Verdammt Väinämöinen, I am thinking clearly!" Vash shouted. "You're right—I am deprived of sleep, and of course I'm worried about my sister! But I cannot take the day off, and I'm thinking more clearly than ever before!"

"Swissy, calm down!" warned Matthias, blatantly alarmed by Vash's outburst. "Tino's right—maybe you should take the day off."

Vash shot the Dane a venomous glare. "Don't call me that," he hissed.

"What do you have against days off, bro?" Matthias demanded. "I take days off all the time!"

"And you shouldn't," Lukas growled, smacking the Dane upside the head.

Vash shook his head. "One time, I took Lili to a park," he told the Dane, earning himself a confused look. "She went on the carousel and got scared, so she tried to jump off. A woman grabbed her before she could jump, gott sei dank, and held onto her for the entire ride. When she finally got off, I was so worried, but then she explained to me why she had tried to jump." The Swiss sighed, as Arthur began to wonder where this story was going. "I told her that it wasn't safe and that she shouldn't do things that scared her. I said, 'No matter how scared you get, no matter how much you cry, that carousel's not going to stop turning. You just have to wait until the ride ends—it's not safe to jump off while it's still going."

"Touching story, but what does that have to do with days off?" Matthias demanded impatiently. 

"What Zwingli is trying to say is that no matter how panicked you are, time doesn't stop for you, and that if you stop functioning because you're panicked, your life won't wait for you to start back up again," Arthur explained, glancing over at Vash, who gave a slight nod. "He can't take the day off just because he's scared. Time is still flying by."

"Exactly," Vash gulped. "Kirkland, think of all the lives that could be saved by working with the Mafia on this."

"Yeah Artie," Alfred butted in obnoxiously. "Plus, we would get to see their faces. That would make them easy to catch when we're done working together.

Arthur shot his partner an irritated look, running a hand through his short, blond hair. "I doubt we'll still be going after the Vargas Mafia after this case," he sighed. "No matter, Romano told me that he would call tonight. I will let him know of our decision then."

 

 

 

• • •

 

 

 

 

It had been a stressful night for Yao Wang. From his position behind the wheel of his black BMW i8, the Chinese man's knuckles were white as he clutched to the wheel, and beads of sweat trickled down his temples and hit the soft flesh of his neck. Every muscle in his body ached, and his car stunk of sweat, blood, and chloroform. 

Blood was oozing from a gash in Yao's forehead. With a grimace, the Chinese man recalled the events which had taken place hours before. There was a reason why he was never the man to perform abductions: he was fragile—easy to injure. 

He had followed Kiku's instructions very carefully, as the Japanese man was the best in respect to kidnapping with stealth and precision. His target had not been at her house, but he had glimpsed a note on her bedside table upon entering the empty dwelling—a list of emergency contacts and their addresses. Yao had simply chosen the first address on the list and found an unlocked window through which he could enter the house.

The job grew trickier after that. To his surprise, the target had been awake, and screamed when he made to snuff her with chloroform. The girl had shoved him, knocking over a lamp and hitting his forehead on the corner of the bedside table. Finally, Yao had been able to grab his target and knock her out, and, completely disregarding the other girl in the room, had opened the window and fled. 

Now, the girl was being held with all of the other children—the other livestock—and Yao was simply driving to clear his mind. He knew that the girl's older brother worked for the Vargas Mafia, but what he had not known at the time of the abduction was that he also worked for the FBI. 

Finally, Yao found himself parked outside of a familiar building—Kiku's apartment complex. Without giving a thought to his actions, the Trafficker made his way up to his Japanese cousin's apartment, and the next thing he knew, he at the doorstep. 

"Yao?" Kiku asked, bewildered. "Can I help you?" 

"Do you have bandages?" Yao blurted out, and Kiku nodded. 

"Please come in," the Japanese man invited. "I will get you medicine and bandages."

Yao gave a small nod, stepping inside, where he found himself in a small living room containing a few sofas and a small coffee table. Sprawled across one of the sofas was none other than Sadik Adnan, one arm dangling off of the edge. Quietly, Yao sank down into one of the sofas, attempting not to disturb the Turk. The attempt was unsuccessful. 

"What the holy hell are you doing here?" Sadik growled, cracking open one brown eyes and glaring at Yao. "Trying to get me back, old man?"

Narrowing his almond-shaped eyes, Yao found his fists clenched. "Last I checked, you were older than I am, Adnan," he reminded the Turk bitterly through gritted teeth. "And no, I'm not. I'm simply here to speak with Kiku."

Before Sadik could reply, Kiku re-entered the living room, carrying a wad of gauze in his small hands. "Please do not fight, both of you," the Japanese man murmured, tossing the gauze to Yao. "Yao, I'm sure you had a reason for coming here other than the first aid. Why are you here?"

"I needed to talk to you," Yao replied steadily, pressing the gauze to his bleeding forehead. "In private," he added, casting an irritated glance at Sadik. 

"Fine!" the Turk yelled, throwing his hands up in defeat. With a groan, he pushed himself up off the couch and stomped into the next room, slamming the door shut. 

Not looking away from the door, Kiku addressed Yao. "What is it that you wanted to speak with me about?"

"My kidnapping skills are subpar," Yao admitted nonchalantly. Kiku nodded, glancing at the wound on his Chinese cousin's forehead. "I left a witness at the scene and I hit my head. There's blood."

"You didn't dispose of the witness?" Kiku asked softly, his dull brown eyes widening slightly.

Yao shook his head. "I had no time, aru. I had to keep moving."

"Jesus Christ, Yao," murmured the smaller man, pushing his bangs up and out of his face. "Why are you telling me this? You're the boss, so you should know how to handle it."

"I do," Yao growled, "but I will need your help, aru."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm leaving until the authorities and the Mafia calm down about us. The witness has probably described me to the FBI already, and they're probably running DNA analysis on my blood as we speak. I'll go into hiding—maybe I'll stay with the Russian."

"And what about our operation, Yao?!" Kiku demanded, bewildered. "The entire business is in your hands!"

Yao sighed and stared the smaller man dead in the eye. "I'm leaving it to you, Kiku. You're my second-in-command, therefore it seems only fair that you should take over in my absence, aru." 

"You can't be serious," Kiku whispered. "What makes you think that I can handle something as big as that?"

"You have the support of nearly everyone," promised Yao with a small smile. "No one can quite control Im, but he respects you. Leon is my younger brother so he'll probably listen to you if I tell him to. Even though she's my sister, Lin resents me, but she seems to get along with you, and I'll tell Lien and Hassan to transfer their reports to you, and Nirand has no problem following orders. As long as everyone does their jobs, you'll be fine, aru." 

"And what of dealings?" Kiku demanded. "You are the one to handle exchanges, especially with the Russian and his sister."

"And you've seen enough sales to be able to handle a few yourself."

Kiku fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat and Yao suppressed a groan of irritation. "I'll check in on you, sometimes," the Chinese man promised with a sigh. "I know you can do this, aru."

On that final note, Yao stood up and nodded a brief goodbye at his successor. As he strode out of the apartment, he could hear Kiku whisper in his native tongue, "I wish I knew that too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **refer to call at the beginning of the fic between Romano and England
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:  
> Figlio di una cagna: son of a bitch (Italian)  
> Fratello: Brother (Italian)  
> Sí: Yes (Italian)  
> Sei still: be quiet (German)  
> Che cazzo hai detto, è poco merda: what the fuck did you say, you little shit (Italian)  
> Hallo: hello (German)  
> Verdammt: god dammit (German)  
> Gott sei dank: thank god (German)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spain and England finally meet again, the Mafia watches and listens intently, and Japan's first day on his new job results in some changes being made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god guys I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long! I was traveling all summer and I've been really busy with school, but I finally did it. I'll try not to let this happen again, I promise.
> 
> Disclaimer:   
> Spain?  
> Spain: graywolf2010 does not own Hetalia or any of its characters. All places mentioned in this chapter are real, and are not owned by graywolf2010, comprende?   
> Thank you Spain

They were listening to a radio. Three pairs of eyes—gold, blue and violet—were locked on the device, and three pairs of ears were straining to listen. "Are you sure we made the right call?" demanded a deep voice.

Lovino Vargas swung his head around to glower at the speaker, who was none other than Ludwig Beilschmidt, his brother's lover. "Of course I am!" he snapped. "What were we supposed to do, Macho Potato? Let the FBI bastards come here?"

"I'm simply not sure sending Antonio back into the field was the best idea."

"Antonio can handle himself," Roderich Edelstein cut in tiredly. "Although perhaps it would be a good idea for us to monitor him visually. He's in a public place with plenty of security cameras."

Ludwig nodded, pulling a laptop out from his briefcase. 

"Going to hack the cameras, bastardo?" Lovino sneered. "Do you carry that thing around where ever you go?"

"Ja, I do," replied Ludwig. "Your brother does as well."

"I know he does!" Lovino spluttered, surprised and irritated that Ludwig knew that. "I'm the one who gave him the idea!" 

Ludwig nodded skeptically.

'Damned Potato Bastard,' Lovino thought, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists. 'Who does that figlio di una cagna think he is?!' 

Refusing to glance at Ludwig's screen, Lovino was left to listen to the white noise and mindless whistling on the radio, Roderich faintly humming in the background. Helplessness tugged at his gut as he waited for the meeting to begin. In retrospect, it may not have been the best idea on his part to send Antonio to the plaza to meet and discuss an alliance with an FBI agent, armed with only a few knives and a microphone to transmit the meeting to Lovino, Roderich, and Ludwig over the radio. The Spaniard could easily be arrested, and they would have to repeat the ordeal of breaking him out of jail again, an excursion which involved all three snipers and a few more hitmen. 

"He'll be fine."

Lovino turned to stare at Roderich, but found himself also looking at his brother, who had entered the room. "What did you say?" he growled.

"Ve~Toni will be okay, Fratello," Feliciano repeated. "You should trust people more. The Fed you talked to promised he wouldn't do anything."

"I don't trust the Feds, Feliciano, you dumbass. I'm the head of the Mafia." Irritation gnawed at Lovino's throat as he struggled not to snap at his younger brother.

Feliciano threw Lovino a worried look and opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Roderich.

The Austrian placed his hand on the small Italian's shoulder. "Don't worry about your brother, Feli," he sighed. "Lovino is a wolf. He's vicious and will rip his enemy's throat out with his pack, but he's also intelligent enough to know when not to bite. The alpha will not order the pack to attack a group of hunters who are sure to shoot every last wolf without hesitation."

"That's sweet, Piano Bastard," said Lovino with a smirk. "And what of Vash? Is he also a wolf? Do you use these metaphors in the bedroom, bastard?"

"Nein," replied Roderich with a small shake of his head. "Vash is not a wolf. Wolves are loyal to their pack, whereas Vash is loyal to only himself and his sister, and perhaps me. Nein, Vash is a viper. He is cunning and knows how to twist the truth a deceive everyone around him. He needs only strike once, and his victim will fall after one quick, clean, bite." The Austrian ignored the latter of Lovino's questions, much to the Italian's disappointment.

"Speaking of Vash," Roderich added, "he told me that his team found blood at the scene of his sister's abduction. Apparently the FBI's Forensics team ran DNA analysis and are waiting for the results. They think the blood belonged to the kidnapper."

"What the hell?!" Ludwig emitted a loud yell, causing everyone else in the room to jump in surprise. 

"Ve~Luddy, what happened?" Feliciano shrieked, throwing his arms around the German's neck.

"Someone has tampered with my files!" Ludwig roared. "I've lost all my information on the Traffickers!"

"Was it them?" Roderich demanded, urgency tainting his voice.

"Obviously!" Lovino snapped. "Can you trace where the attack came from, Potato Bastard?" he added. 

"I already know who did this," the German snarled. "They left their damned signatures on their work, and both were in my coding class in high school."

"Excellent," Lovino breathed. "Now, we have a meeting to listen to. Feliciano, contact Bella and the Pot Bastard and have them locate the hackers. Then, once they have been located, tell the Albino Bastard that he's needed back in the field and that I'll shoot him if he doesn't do his job correctly this time." Even if the files couldn't be recovered, two traffickers had just revealed themselves, unbeknownst to them. 'This job is going to be easier than I thought,' Lovino thought to himself giddily, a grin sliding across his face.

"Ve~so I tell Bella and Lars to find them and then Gilbert kills them?" Feliciano repeated. An excited chuckle escaped Lovino's lips.

"Sí. Macho Potato," Lovino added, turning to Ludwig. "What are the names of the hackers?"

Ludwig's icy blue eyes lit up. "Lien Chung and Gupta Hassan."

Lovino burst out laughing, roaring with laughter and giving random fits of giggles until he was clutching his sides in pain. This was just too perfect. Lien Chung and Gupta Hassan were going to die. This was a good day. The mob boss took a deep breath before erupting into more crazed laughter, unable to calm down.

 

 

 

• • •

 

 

 

"Bloody hell, I know this is the right place!" This was all Arthur Kirkland could say as he wandered around the Daley Plaza, aimlessly searching for the man whom he was supposed to be meeting. He knew he had an awful sense of direction, and he also knew that he had passed the giant Picasso statue of the Plaza at least three times. To make matters worse, "Romano" had insisted that he meet the Mafia contact alone, meaning that his partner had been left behind. Had Alfred been there, Arthur was positive that he would have found the exact meeting spot fifteen minutes ago. Not that he would ever admit it.

Arthur knew very little about what he was heading into. After proposing the idea of working together, Romano had laid out a very precise meeting spot where he and a member of the Mafia would discuss terms and conditions of the temporary alliance. That was all Arthur knew. He had also been assured that if he attempted to arrest the Mafia contact, he would be shot immediately by another member. The Britton didn't know if Romano had been bluffing or telling the truth, but he didn't want to take that chance. 

Upon finally reaching the meeting place given by Romano, Arthur found himself to be alone. Tired and irritated, he stiffly sat down on a bench, a glare working itself onto his face. He was beginning to despise this Mafia contact more and more. 

"Oh mi deus, I'm late! Lo siento, mi amigo, lo siento!" A frantic, accented voice snapped Arthur out of his thoughts. A very familiar voice. Arthur looked up and found himself staring into the bright green eyes of none other than Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. "Oh, Agent Kirkland, right? It's you!" the Spaniard sounded a bit relieved. "Romano told me I would be meeting a Fed, but I was a little nervous, meeting new people and all. But I know you because you arrested me, right?"

"Carriedo," Arthur growled through gritted teeth, irritation quickly turning to fury. 'Of all the possible members, Romano sent him?! Does he know our history?!' he thought savagely. 

With a grin, Carriedo plopped himself down next to Arthur and looked him dead in the eye. "Right," he began, taking a more serious tone. "Before we begin this conversation, don't you think it would be best to put down our weapons?"

Before Arthur had a chance to respond, the Spaniard shrugged off his jacket and folded it neatly, placing it on the ground, but not before allowing Arthur to glimpse an impressive array of knives lining the inside of the jacket, as well as a small gun in the inside pocket. 

Glaring uneasily at Carriedo, Arthur found himself unwilling to relinquish his pistol, suspicious of any other weapons the other man might still be carrying. The Spaniard noticed the British agent's suspicion. "Those are the only weapons I have, I swear," he promised. "Besides," Carriedo added, crossing his arms and leaning back with a grin, "you don't give up the gun, I don't give up the information." With a sigh, Arthur set down the gun on top of Carriedo's jacket. 

"Spill, Carriedo," he snapped. 

"Antonio," Carriedo corrected him. 

Taking a deep breath and gritting his teeth, Arthur tried again. "Spill, Antonio. What did your boss want to tell me?"

"Just terms and conditions of the deal."

"You do know that no one actually reads the terms and conditions online, right? They just agree automatically to get what they want."

"But these are some terms and conditions you'll want to listen to, mi amigo," Carriedo responded earnestly.

"Then get on with it."

Carriedo grinned, teeth flashing white. "I'm so glad you're considering this," he announced, distracted. "It'll be really fun if you agree."

"Just tell me what Romano wants," Arthur snapped, his patience thinning. 

"It's actually really simple," Carriedo began. "After we take down the child traffickers, you and your team transfer assignments, don't share any information about us with your replacements, and can't do anything if you see us in public. You forget all about this mission, and everything you ever knew or learn about the Vargas Mafia. Comprende?" 

"And if I 'forget' these terms after the traffickers are arrested?" 

"You won't be able to take us down, anyways," Carriedo informed the agent dismissively, much to Arthur's annoyance. "Your team is but a small fleet, but the Mafia is an Armada. Plus we'll just have incentive to destroy you."

"The British Navy sank the Spanish Armada," grumbled Arthur. 'My god, idiot, if you're going to use historical references, think them through before you say them.'

Antonio's green eyes darkened dangerously. "Are you going to agree to the conditions or not, Protestante infiel?"

"Fine, Catholic wanker. I'll talk to my superiors," Arthur snarled. 'It seems the British and the Spanish will never stop fighting about religion,' he thought to himself in exasperation.

"Muy bien!" cheered Carriedo, grinning from ear to ear. "Next meeting will be tomorrow at Intelligentsia Coffee. There will be more people than just me, so you will be allowed to bring your partner and two other agents on your team. Adios!" 

Without further ado, the Spaniard threw on his knife-laced jacket and trotted off, leaving Arthur alone once more. 

 

 

• • •

 

 

 

It was Kiku Honda's first day as Yao's replacement, and he was drowning. He had lost both of his body guards and lovers, Sadik still refusing to come back to work, and this meant that he had to handle everything on his own. Including making sure that his subordinates listened to him, including the Korean man who was currently attempting to grope his chest. "Yong Soo," the Japanese man groaned, pushing the other man off of him, "don't you have some work to be doing?"

"Yeah, but…"

"Please refrain from 'but-ing' me," Kiku nearly snapped, narrowing his dark eyes at Yong Soo. 

"Fine," the Korean grumbled, sullenly moving back to his own work space next to Nirand, in all his wild-haired glory. 

Kiku decided to ignore Yong Soo's attempts at stealing Nirand's glasses. 

As Kiku had suspected, his colleagues had all taken the news of Yao's temporary retirement in varying degrees of shock. Lin and Leon, Yao's younger siblings, had been informed by their brother the night before, so neither seemed shocked. Lin had enthusiastically offered her full support to Kiku, saying that she felt it was time for a change anyways. Leon had seemed a bit more upset through his emotionless facade, but had tried not to let it show. He would have succeeded had Kiku not known him for his entire life and known exactly how to read him. 

Yong Soo had taken the blow harshly and was reluctant to take orders from Kiku, much to the latter's displeasure. His work partner, Nirand, on the other hand, also supported Kiku, as he had never been close with Yao.

And then of course there was Lien. Constantly working with Gupta, an Egyptian man who never actually showed up to work, she was always more rebellious than any of the other subordinates. However, with her recent victory in hacking the Mafia's computers, Kiku could do no more than thank her. 

"How are things going over here?" the Japanese man asked, making his way over to where Lin and Leon appeared to be working diligently. 

Leon didn't even give Kiku a glance before responding, "Fine."

"No, things aren't going fine at all!" Lin countered, glaring at her brother and kicking him from across the table that they worked at. 

"Oh?" Kiku asked, raising an eyebrow, as Leon hissed something in Mandarin to his sister. "Please elaborate."

Lin elected to ignore her brother. "We can't agree on what to monitor! Li Xiao wants to watch the FBI, but the Mafia is a much greater threat! They're the ones who are actually killing us, right, Kiku?" 

"The name's Leon," her brother grumbled, but this only served to further frustrate Lin. 

"Just because you went to school in London and got a weird accent, it doesn't make you British!" 

"Wǒ yǒngbào xīfāng wénhuà."

"Lin, Leon, please," Kiku interrupted, slightly irritated. "Both the FBI and Mafia are important."

However, seeing as the two continued to glare at each other, Kiku finally suggested, "Why don't you split up? Leon can watch the FBI and Lin can watch the Mafia."

"But Yao told us—" Leon began to protest, before Kiku cut him off.

"I know what Yao said, but I'm in charge now, and I'm telling you otherwise. Split up. This is my operation now."

"Da ze!" Yong Soo's voice exclaimed, emanating from his work station. 

Kiku turned to the Korean and his partner. "What happened?"

Nirand grinned, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "We deleted the FBI's files on us ana~" the Thai informed Kiku, cutting off Yong Soo and causing the latter to pout. 

"I wanted to tell him," the Korean protested, but he was ignored by both Kiku and Nirand. 

"Good job, both of you," Kiku praised the pair half-heartedly. He was growing increasingly worried that the FBI would notice their increase in activity and would become more motivated to take then down. 

"Lin," he added, turning back to the Chinese girl, "I need you to come with me to check if the newest arrival has woken."

"The Zwingli girl? The one Yao told us about?" Lin asked, and Kiku nodded in confirmation. 

"Leon, get on the phone with potential customers. We want to get rid of this girl as soon as possible," the Japanese man instructed his subordinate. "It should be relatively easy, considering that she is a young and pretty little thing."

Leon nodded, and Kiku turned around to walk away. As Lin made to follow him, out of the corner of his eye, Kiku watched Leon grab his sister by the wrist.

"We're terrible people, aren't we?" the Japanese man heard Leon whisper gloomily.

Before Lin had the chance to respond, Kiku whipped around an looked Leon dead in the eye, grinding out, "It all depends on who you ask."

He checked on the newest arrivals with dread and sorrow weighing in his heart, pondering Leon's statement all the while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Lo siento: I'm sorry (Spanish)  
> Mi deus: My god (Spanish)  
> Ja: Yes (German)  
> Figlio di una cagna: Son of a bitch (Italian)  
> Nein: No (German)  
> Mi amigo: My friend (Spanish)  
> Comprende: Understand (Spanish)  
> Protestante infiel: Protestant infidel (Spanish)  
> Muy bien: Very well (Spanish)  
> Adios: Goodbye (Spanish)  
> Wǒ yǒngbào xīfāng wénhuà: I'm embracing western culture (Google translate's Chinese)  
> Bastardo: Bastard (Italian)
> 
> Sorry if the translations are a bit off—I'm using Google Translate. I realize the "Chinese" is probably completely wrong. 
> 
> NOTE: Yes, Spain and England do fight about religion in this chapter? Why? Because I was learning about the Protestant Revolution in my AP US History class (don't asks why) and how Catholic Spain against it.
> 
> NOTE: Yes, I did call Taiwan Chinese in here. That's because in this fic, China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong are all siblings. Hong Kong went to school in England for a few years (English colonization of Hong Kong) and Taiwan probably went to school in Taiwan or something. But they're all Chinese.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Idiota—idiot (Italian)  
> Bastardi—bastards (Italian)  
> Mi dispiace—I'm sorry (Italian)  
> Scendere di me—get off of me (Italian)  
> Stupido—stupid (Italian)  
> Fratello—brother (Italian)  
> Bruder—brother (German)   
> Ja—yes (German)  
> Idioti—idiots (Italian)  
> Mis amigos—my friends (Spanish)  
> Fick köpfe—fuck heads (German)


End file.
